


The Courage In Silence Speaks Of Love

by Menatiera, Tsuminoaru



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (basically everyone is fey except some badass humans like Peggy), Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America Big Bang, Captain America Big Bang 2018, Depression, Everyone is BAMF, Fae & Fairies, Fey Bucky Barnes, Fey Natasha Romanov, Fey Steve Rogers, Fey Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, On the Run, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Recovery, Standard Winter Soldier Warnings Apply, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers POV, Stucky - Freeform, background pepperony, cabb18, mute character, past buckynat, past steggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-18 10:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16116872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera/pseuds/Menatiera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuminoaru/pseuds/Tsuminoaru
Summary: "Steve was used to weird things. He was used to mundane things too. What he wasn’t used to, however, was waking up at the crack of dawn to find an unconscious man in his backyard, clearly the reason behind the alarms being triggered."Life isn't particularly exciting for an expelled Summer Knight in the human world, years after his mortal love died of old age. So he's a little surprised when his old world comes knocking on his door in the form of a wounded, masked and voiceless fey.Turns out, the new visitor has a past, too, and when it catches up with them, the Summer Knight's life is going to get interesting again.Unfortunately, among the Sidhe,interestingalmost always meansdangerous.To them, and to those who they want to protect as well.***Edit: Artwork added to the first chapter, check it out!!! <3





	1. Arriving

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my contribution to the Captain America Big Bang 2018! This means daily updates from now on until we reach the finish line - at least that's the plan.  
> Beautiful artwork embedded into the story by the lovely and wonderful and crazy talented [@Tsuminoaru!](http://tsumi-noaru.tumblr.com)  
> This fic exists mostly because [@Lilianox](http://lilianox7.tumblr.com/) is a gift - to the fandom and to me personally. She cheerleaded me through the writing process with endless encouragement, kindness and wonderful brainstorming sessions. I bow to her brilliance.  
> Title credit again goes to the wonderful [@Hiriajuu](http://hiriajuu.tumblr.com), because they are the title master forever.  
> Several people betaed this story through the process - every correct sentence is their merit and every mistake is my shame. These people are all amazing, especially given how last-minute they had to jump in, so share the love with them too: [@stuckyrideordie](https://stuckyrideordie.tumblr.com/), and [Cinnamon_anemone](http://highprofilerichkid.tumblr.com/), and [Skye7](http://skye07.tumblr.com/)!  
> [@cpt-winniethepooh](http:/cpt-winniethepooh.tumblr.com/) was (as always) standing beside me and held my hand when necessary despite her own struggles, and I love her so much for being such a good friend to me.

_ What the holy Magic of All?! _

Steve was used to weird things. He was used to mundane things too. What he wasn’t used to, however, was waking up at the crack of dawn to find an unconscious man in his backyard, clearly the reason behind the alarms being triggered. Human alarm system, mind you, because he gave up trying to plant protective wards around his house a long time ago.

Steve didn’t let down his sword as he approached cautiously, circling the figure who had faceplanted into his precious daffodil flower bed.

The man didn’t move.

Pointy ears peeked through his dark, dank hair, and his aura vibrated with magic, however faint and suppressed it was.

He wore human clothes, though. Clothes that were torn and soaked in his blood.

Steve stared, unmoving for at least a minute, too surprised to actually… do anything? He kind of expected… he didn’t know what he expected. Humans, probably, though strangers rarely showed up unannounced. He lived far from the city, on the outskirts of a national park, not exactly in a protected area but close enough that nature bloomed unrestricted around him and he rarely got disturbed.

He hadn’t seen a fairy in ages. He wasn’t important enough anymore to be sought out by them. Last time he met them, some pixies (disguised as hummingbirds to mundane eyes) had come to rest in his garden, but that had been months ago, in the time of their yearly migration. He had had two hounds that weren’t exactly normal dogs, but he gifted them to Natasha after Peggy’s death. A high-ranking fey, someone who could pass as a human in size and shape – well, Steve hadn’t seen one since he was expelled from the Court.

So it was quite a shock and he needed to calm his heart down. He looked around but no one else showed up and no threat was visible – nor did he hear or smell anything unusual. The birds were singing just as joyously as ever and a few bugs buzzed around his head in their usual business as Steve walked closer.

Steve put the sword down and kneeled next to the stranger, careful to roll on his sole and never lose his balance, ready to dodge a possible attack at any minute. Nothing malicious happened. A series of muffled coughs rattled the still unconscious body.

How the hell had a fey found him? Steve swallowed hard and scanned his surroundings again looking for a trap, but there wasn’t any unusual movement or sound. 

Steve didn’t do anything that would draw attention to him, and definitely didn’t send out any signal that his was a good place to crash on. Looking from outside, his house seemed like any other ordinary residence. Maybe his garden was a bit more well-maintained, his plants just a tad happier and healthier than necessary, but that was all. Even feyfolk who knew what to look for would miss his place –  _ especially  _ because they knew what to look for and Steve lacked that.

His magic, if what he had counted as magic at all, wasn’t enough to make his people notice him.

So how did this fey do it? Why did he do it? Why did he end up here? Was it even intentional? To be honest, he didn’t believe in coincidences when it came to his own kind; and his caution was both a production of natural paranoia and longtime experience. It came with the job, once upon a time.

Steve slipped his hand under the the man’s shirt and put his palm on his back; closed his eyes and opened something else.

It wasn’t easy, finding the essence. The stranger was far away as a default, and his several injuries made it worse; Steve never felt a presence this faint once he  _ tried to _ reach out. He wasn’t  _ good  _ at this, but he was stubborn and dedicated, and no matter how much he lacked the necessary force, he always worked until he reached his goal. This time wasn’t any different.

He stretched more, searching and scanning, almost hunting for the signals of the other one; ignored the painful throb in his mind and the cold sweat on his forehead as he followed the thread of the other presence; pulled himself closer and closer until nothing else existed. He knew he was making himself vulnerable, he knew his body was kneeling beside the injured fey unable to react to any threat, but it didn’t matter. They were in his garden alone, not exactly in mortal peril. His curiosity, his need for answers was more important than his urge to be safe for every step he took.

Finally, he sensed it: the life force under his palm perked up, reacted to his demand. If he were a healer, he’d be able to tell the owner’s story just by this, he’d be able to watch through his condition like a movie, he’d be able to read his memories like an open book, but he wasn’t a healer, just a knight, possibly not even that.

All he sensed was the pain. So much pain – not exactly physical, at least not most of. It was thick and dark, like old wine, and tasted as such: layers and layers of well-aged hurt upon hurt, embedded into the soul that hosted them. These wounds were the least of it, as far as Steve could tell, like a lightweight sheet upon an already stacked pile. He wasn’t able to pinpoint the origin of it all: where it came from or how it started. He was able to tell, however, that the fey in front of him was relatively young in age and yet was heavily burdened already.

Steve’s heart ached and his eyes burned as he retracted his magic and returned to his senses. The garden around him was unchanged, no one else was around. The flowers were leaning slightly toward them, like they were curious, and Steve spared them a tired smile.

For a while, he just knelt there, not bothering with movements. This stunt that would’ve been as casual as breathing to most of his fellow knights had already drained him, not physically but magically at least. No wonder he usually didn’t bother with it. But, well. It was worth it this time.

Looking down at the figure in front of him, he was sure of what to do and didn’t hesitate.

Steve picked the wounded fey up, gently but firmly, hoping the injuries will take the new stress of movement without reopening or worsening. He didn’t sway or stagger – in fact, the man was lighter than he expected. Muscular, sure, but thin, like he hadn’t eaten well in… well, who knows how long. Steve pointedly didn’t think about that as he carried the unconscious guest inside, and carefully but unceremoniously put him down on the couch.

It was the first time Steve had a chance to actually look at his face - or so he thought. Only to discover as he brushed aside the stranger’s hair that the face was covered with a mask.

Steve’s brows furrowed and he reached to take it off. He fumbled at the edges, looking for straps or clips, but there were none. It felt like the dark material extended straight from the skin, and the more he tried to take it off, the more it seemed like it was the part of its owner, like it tightened with every attempt.

“Fuck,” Steve said and let go of it, afraid it would hurt the fey more. Was this the reason behind the visitor being thin? How was he even eating with that mask on? No, he  _ should _ be able to eat: the appliance didn’t feel forced upon him, even to Steve’s limited sensations. The fabric of the mask, at least, felt  _ natural  _ under his skin, dry and smooth, though cold.

Not like he should be worried about cold in this case, right?

Still, he wished he had enough magic to disenchant it. He’d be calmer if were able to properly  _ see  _ his guest.

Steve brushed some more stray hair out of the stranger’s face, and watched as his eyes fluttered nervously behind closed lids, like he was anxious even in his unconsciousness. Well, given the feelings Steve just experienced, he couldn’t blame him. 

The fey’s forehead was smooth now, only light lines showing how he usually creased it. He had a strong jawline and sharp cheeks under the black fabric. His eyes seemed deep and hollow despite being closed, and his eartips still peeked through his hair like they were mocking Steve.

He seemed like a handsome one, as far as Steve could tell. Sure, his skin was pale and he had bags under his eyes, but according to all his characteristics he was at least a high ranking elf, probably even a noble sidhe.

How a noble sidhe ended up wounded in Steve’s garden was a mystery that Steve definitely needed to solve, and soon.

Because the other thing he was sure of after his scan? This fey belonged to the Winter Court.

***

Steve made sure his unexpected guest was comfortably set up on his couch. He stripped him out of his clothes - they came off easily, unlike the mask - and bandaged the wounds with practiced hands. Then he dressed him in some of his own. They were similar in size, at least the pants were an acceptable fit. Steve didn't bother with a shirt - the bandages dressed the other enough and it was better to keep an eye on them anyway. 

Then Steve went on with his day. He went out and did morning gardening, though his thoughts were wandering back inside, worrying about the fey.

An Unseelie Sidhe.

A noble from the Winter Court.

Steve still had a hard time wrapping his head around the mere concept of it. What on earth was a Winter Fey doing within the banished Summer Knight’s daffodils?

No, scratch that.

Maybe – probably – that wasn’t the right question.

Who would be able to chase a Winter Sidhe into a stranger’s garden, was probably a more accurate one. Because those wounds weren’t caused by an accident – if anything, Steve knew enough about fighting to know that. His guest sure as hell fought tooth and nail, quite literally if the dried blood under his fingernails meant anything. And despite the fact Steve wasn’t able to even touch the sword at the fey’s side, the hilt burning his finger as a warning just by brushing it, he could smell the blood on its blade too; even though it was within its scabbard.

He hoped the stranger would find a little bit of peace here.

No matter that by birthright they should’ve been enemies. They weren’t in the courts now: neither of them belonged there. Steve didn’t, anymore, and he doubted his guest would be in his current state if he did.

No faery would be stupid enough to mess with a sidhe unless said sidhe was utterly and devastatingly abandoned by their Court.

And even if he  _ wasn’t _ by some miracle… honestly, Steve didn’t care. He might have pretended otherwise, but he could have never left someone to their fate with clear conscience. Especially not when the person was injured, not when they carried this amount of pain: this stranger needed help, he needed a safe place and time to heal.

And though Steve wasn’t a healer, he  _ could  _ provide the necessary environment for natural healing to happen, so he  _ would  _ provide it.

Other fey wouldn’t care about a wounded enemy. As far as Steve knew the Summer and the Winter Courts were not in war currently, but historically speaking they were always just a step away from it, and the relationship between the two was never exactly friendly. 

Steve apparently spent too much time among the humans and had become soft, because deciding to help this fey was as easy as weeding out the flowerbed, affiliations be damned. After the initial shock of the situation and worry over security, there was no question at all, really. Someone needed help, and damn Steve if he was to turn his back on them.

Peggy would’ve done the same.

Steve sighed and for the first time in forever he did an actual perimeter check around his estate. He inhaled the scents deeply and touched some of the petals as he walked by, went into the barn to feed and pet the animals. He greeted the land with open eyes and an open heart, thanking its blossom without words.

Besides the trail the fey left coming in, everything was fine and orderly, and the garden exuded its usual calm.

Steve nodded as he circled back to his starting point, and headed inside to make some tea. He had a suspicion it would be needed soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment because I live for them; also I'm always happy to see everyone on [my tumblr blog](http://menatiera.tumblr.com/), where you can stalk my progress, ask me questions or just enjoy some marvel content! :)
> 
> [The mindblowing artwork is the wonderful Tsuminoaru's creation, check out her blog as well!!!](http://tsumi-noaru.tumblr.com/post/178934212324/an-my-contribution-for-my-pitch-hit-for)


	2. Baby steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fatally lonely old man adopts wounded hobo like a stray cat- what happens next will warm your heart.
> 
> (Chapter summary by notasgeekyasidlike - thank you so much!)

Steve wasn’t sure what made him look up. 

Hours had passed since he had left the unconscious fey on his couch. The fey who might or might not try to kill him when he woke up. Still, Steve wasn't going to stand vigil at his bedside. He had a life, thank you very much, a life that wasn’t falling apart around him for a change. He had to finish that logo design, for example, because the deadline the customer had set was approaching fast, and he still had no idea how to make a graphic about software engineering. (How did these guys even find him, he never did any work before for technological startups.)

So after he had bandaged some of the stranger’s deeper wounds and sworn some at his uncooperative blade that threatened to freeze Steve just by touching it, Steve went on with his business.

He was just doodling on his tablet, really; his own sword still at his side, just in case. He angled his chair so that he _could_ look at his guest if he wanted, not like he used the opportunity. At all. He was sipping his tea while scribbling absent-mindedly when he sensed it.

Goosebumps arose on his nape. The air seemed cooler than before, from one moment to another. If he wasn’t as aware of his surroundings, he might’ve missed it.

Nothing _seemed_ to be different. The breathing of the fey was even, his posture limp and his eyes closed. But… something changed, no matter if Steve wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what.

He realized he had been holding his breath and let it out, sitting back and taking up his teacup again.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “If I’d wanted to hurt you, I’ve had plenty of opportunities already.”

Instead of relaxing, the fey’s grip tightened around the handle of his sword, and yep, how had Steve _missed_ _that_ in the first place? The stranger’s left palm was on the hilt, not on the couch where it had been when left after Steve had put herbs and gauze on the wounds. Steve’s carelessness would have been bad enough without the threat of the weapon, but combining the two?

He had grown lazy, apparently. That, or he truly had started to get senile or blind, no other explanation.

He resisted the urge to shake his head at the thought. “Please, feel free to draw your weapon, but then I’ll have to do the same. I think it’s better if none of us greets the other with sword in hand, don’t you think?”

He waited and after three heartbeats the fey’s grip loosened. Steve, who had watched his body language searching for signs of attack until this point, now dared to look at his face, and was confronted by the stranger’s gaze.

Simply saying his eyes were blue would’ve been a lie. His eyes were blue alright, but at the same time they were white and grey and black too. They had a whirlwind of grayscale colors in them while still remaining, well, blue – not the shade of the summer sky or the ocean, but the steely palette of ice in pale sunlight and snow at starry night and winter sky in dim twilight.

Steve felt the cup’s handle slipping from his fingers and caught it on autopilot while still staring.

The Unseelie was _terrified_.

His eyes held dread that Steve could practically feel even without any sixth sense perception.

“I have no intentions to hurt you,” Steve tried to reassure him, and he was surprised to hear how calm and level his voice sounded. He slowly put the teacup back onto its plate and lifted his hands, palms out in the universal sign of peace offering. He still had his sword at his side, but that was only fair, since he didn’t take away the fey’s either.

(Well, he should’ve, with the stranger's intentions still unknown, but it was too late now.)

The fey squinted as he considered Steve and his gesture. His body was stiff now, as opposed to Steve’s still relaxed posture, and as he tried to sit up, he fell back, probably from an unexpected rush of pain.

Steve rose before he could think better of it, which resulted in a hiss and suddenly there was a knife in the newcomer’s left hand.

He didn’t draw the sword. Steve considered it as a small mercy. At least the knife – maybe, probably – wasn’t enchanted. Still, he made a face as he sat down again. “Okay, geez. I was just trying to help. You might’ve noticed already that I bandaged you.”

The fey froze and looked down, frowning. He touched a green leaf peeking out from under the gauze and blinked.

The knife disappeared just as fast as it came out from Mother-knows-where, much to Steve’s satisfaction.

Then the fey sat up, more carefully this time, and made a questioning gesture including himself, Steve, and the living room in general with the movement.

“I kinda hoped _you_ will tell me,” Steve answered, suddenly very aware of the fact that the fey didn’t say a thing, didn’t make any sound beside that animalistic hiss so far. “I’m the one who found you unconscious in my garden at the crack of dawn and let me tell you, I’m too old for getting up this early.”

Instead of giving an actual answer, the guest narrowed his eyes at him again, probably trying to guess Steve’s age.

“It’s a human phrase, nevermind,” Steve waved.

There was a pause again. The fey lowered his gaze, watching Steve only from the corner of his eyes. Steve wasn’t famous for his patience, especially not after decades in the human world where everything rushed on with spectacular speed. “So. How did you end up here?”

Silence. Steve wasn’t sure his guest even breathed.

“Who hurt you?” he tried again.

The sidhe remained carefully neutral and unassuming, his eyes not giving away anything and his face… well, most of it wasn’t visible to begin with, but the rest remained expressionless too.

Steve couldn’t forget the dread, though.

“Would you give me your name, please?”

The fey sniffed and gave a really unimpressed and almost scornful stare, but at least he looked Steve in the eye properly this time. It was still better than the emptiness from before. Steve smiled at him blandly.

“Okay, that was cheap, sorry. Old habits die hard.” It was funny at first, when he came to the human world, how carelessly people gave away their names at the first request, then it got tiring after he had more names than he could keep track of. It came in handy, sometimes, back in the beginning when he and Peggy fought side by side, Steve trusting her to navigate the mortal’s affairs with firm hands and a steady heart; while he helped her with all of his abilities.

The good old days.

Back before people started whispering about Steve’s lack of aging and their unbelievable skills and such, and after a while Peggy had to bench him just to keep their life together and the wolves at bay. That’s when Steve picked up drawing as a habit and developed it into a livelihood.

But Peggy had been gone for years – decades now? – and Steve didn’t collect names anymore. He felt the sad edges in his smile.

“Sorry,” he said again. “But I’d really like to call you something, so would you please introduce yourself with a name of your choosing?”

The stranger squirmed a bit, then he hesitantly held up his right hand. Palm out, fingers straight up, his thumb crossing in front of them. Then he corralled his pinky and ring finger while the other two remained stretched. He waited a second before changing again, this time turning his palm and showing the side of it, curling his fingers…

Steve watched with growing confusion and couldn’t not interrupt. “I’m… I’m really sorry, but I don’t… is this, what, sign language?”

The fey stopped immediately and stayed very still.

Steve took a deep breath. “Can you take the mask off?” he asked. It had been bugging him from the beginning, if he was honest with himself… Even though the mask didn’t feel artificial at all, neither in touch nor to any other senses, there was something unnerving about not being able to see someone’s face, even amongst fairyfolk. No wonder humans had that many tales and horror stories revolved around faceless individuals – it was just… not right. Unnatural. Maybe even scary, in the morbidly curious way of ignorance.

The fey tilted his head to the left and stared, the weight of his gaze felt like it pierced through Steve as seconds passed.

Then he shook his head.

Steve exhaled, making sure his breath came out calm and controlled as he pushed back his emotions into their place. “Doesn’t it bother you?” The question slipped out before he thought better.

The sidhe froze again, the skin tight around his eyes as he kept eye contact, and for some irrational reason Steve was sure he was smiling, hidden and bitter. He nodded, and shrugged at the same time, then looked away like he was already ashamed of sharing a secret he shouldn’t have.

Steve didn’t show his utter surprise his surprise that the fey had answered at all, nor the ache that he felt at the implications the fey shared: he was somehow robbed, he was somehow grieving, or maybe punishing himself, though Steve had no idea _how_ or _why_. He didn’t think the other was trying to deceive him, though he had no reason at all to trust the newcomer. But Steve was an almost completely magicless fay in the land of magic; he learned long ago to trust his guts and instincts, and they almost never failed him. Even though he could not see logic or reason behind his feelings, he knew they were right.

Instead of voicing anything from his thoughts, he lifted the tablet. “I’ll hand this over to you, okay? Maybe we could write to each other instead of talking,” he said.

He very carefully avoided any movement that could be interpreted as threatening, but he couldn’t help being himself. He was aware that his appearance could be intimidating in itself and his movements were that of a warrior’s even when he just crossed a room. He was light on his feet and graceful in a way that spoke of a person who knew the full extent of his own body’s limits and usage.

The fey shrunk back on himself slightly as Steve approached him, then caught his own involuntary response and straightened his spine immediately, lifting his chin up almost as in provocation.

Steve didn’t say a thing, just handed over the tablet and the stylus, as he promised.

The fey frowned at the tablet and carefully knocked it with his nails a few times before actually giving it a try. Then he scribbled down a few signs and basically tossed the device back to Steve.

Steve rubbed his temple.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Of course you’ve just…” He sighed and had absolutely no idea what was on the screen. It was with foreign signs: the Winter and the Summer Court had different writing systems, and Steve wasn’t familiar with the former. At all. “Do you by any chance know the Seelie alphabet?”

The fey shook his head, though he didn’t seem surprised, which meant that he probably was aware of Steve’s affiliation from the start.

“The human one, perhaps?”

No.

Steve pouted and made a conscious effort not to clench his hands into fists. This was going to be harder than he thought. “And I don’t know any sign language.” _Yet_.

He didn’t add that out loud. At least the _language_ itself wasn’t an issue - for whatever reason, English seemingly worked fine in this case, which didn’t surprise Steve at all. Fey always understood and spoke the language of humans, as far as memory went back. He also supposed the stranger was able to _read_ the human texts and therefore didn’t put up on himself to actually learn _writing_ them. At least that had happened in Steve’s case when he followed Peggy into the mortal realm and learned many things, including writing, from her. It still held the question open why it didn’t work the same with sign language - Steve wasn’t able to understand that, at least - but magic wasn’t always logical or understandable. Let alone understandable to him.

Well, there was one more thing. “If you agree to it, I can make a telepathic contact between us so we can—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. The fey was on his feet, lightning fast, knife in his hand again as he lunged for the door.

Steve reacted without conscious thoughts, hurling himself after him. As much as he denied it some days, he was a fey, and therefore he was a hunter by nature. He grabbed the other by his upper arm - it felt somehow strange beneath his palm, too hard and somewhat shifting - and yanked him backwards. “Stop!” he commanded, his voice full of authority now, the remnants of the Captain in it.

The only answer was a growl and the hiss of a blade cutting through the air. Steve dodged the slash but it was a close call. Still it gave a silver of time to _think_ , if only for a moment, and it was enough. Steve didn’t try to catch him again. “I’m not your enemy!”

The Unseelie stopped, dead in his track, to stare at him in disbelief.

They _were_ enemies, or at least they _should’ve been_ enemies. They were a Seelie and Unseelie, they were of Summer and Winter Court. The whole fey history wasn’t anything else but one conflict after the other, one war upon another between their kind.

And yet.

Steve was able to declare this statement, and everyone knew that fey were unable to tell direct lies. They could twist the words, mean one thing and say other by the same word, they could phrase their sentences creatively, but this had no room for argument or doubt. This was raw and unquestionably true and Steve meant it.

They stared at each other.

Steve was just as shocked as the stranger. He didn’t know anything about this fey. He just met him, only a few hours ago. He wasn’t about to get involved - he’d successfully avoided it for decades by now.

But there was something about this one. That haunted look in his eyes, that defiance in his pose, that aura of stubborn pride around him. The obvious need of assistance and the obvious refusal of said assistance.

Maybe it wasn’t even about the other one. But for the first time in very long while Steve felt… like a fey. Like the person he once was, before a mortal life and grief and sadness and helplessness got into the way. Being needed. Having a purpose - other than piling days on days without end or means, too inert to actually wish for a change or care for the world.

Looking into the terrified eyes of this fey and immediately, unconsciously deciding to help him felt like being alive again.

“I’m not your enemy,” Steve repeated, quieter this time, almost whispering. “I want to help you if you’ll let me.”

For a moment, Steve was sure the stranger would walk straight out of the door. That would’ve been the most idiotic thing to do, but, well. Steve had some first-hand experience with fey doing idiotic things and even more experience with doing them himself. Pride was one hell of a drug.

But then the Unseelie’s shoulders sagged and he stumbled back, and moved until he dropped himself onto the couch again, so far from a fey’s usual grace.

“It’s probably stupid of me,” Steve said, sitting back on the chair too, and the guest turned his head to show he was listening though he didn’t look up. “You can stay, as long as you want.”

This made him perk up, and his eyes conveyed his emotions without any words needed: he stared in bafflement and disbelief.

Steve didn’t wait for the obvious question and shrugged. “You certainly need it.” There was a sharp, dismissing hand movement, and Steve barked out an unhappy laugh. “Yes, you do, no matter how much you complain.”

The fey’s shoulders rose up and down in a dramatic, soundless sigh. Then he opened his arms in a questioning manner.

“You wanna know why would I offer such a thing, I guess?” Steve asked with raised eyebrows, trying to figure out the only common language they had, and succeeding so far because the other nodded. It was Steve’s turn to let his eyes fall shut almost shyly, then steeling himself to look back. He had to be straightforward with a person who probably had every reason to be distrustful. Having good intentions was only one part of the deal; being ready to show this straightforwardness was the other. And the latter was by far harder.

Steve was used to doing the right thing. He did his duties as a Knight in this spirit and he lived his life among the humans by this credo too – with additional help from Peggy’s moral compass, of course. However, he wasn’t used to _showing_ his good intentions openly. Especially not in the presence of another fey, an Unseelie nonetheless. A slight shiver ran down Steve’s spine at the memory of the coldness of his guest’s skin. It wasn’t unpleasant, but served as a warning. _Beware, for I am of the Winter_ , the temperature meant to everyone who wasn’t an Unseelie themselves, just like the Seelie’s heat burned others as a warning. Opening up and being _straightforward_ and _honest_ was not something that often happened between members of opposite Courts, or even among faeries in general.

Steve found himself gazing at his guest. “You have much to carry,” he said, careful not to judge or accuse. It was a statement, simple and bold. “You need to rest and you need to heal. This place is good for both. And I… I have not much to lose anyway.” His voice cracked once, but he managed to finish the sentence without much stuttering.

He almost mentioned Peggy - he almost said out loud she’d do the same if she were here, but it wouldn’t be wise. Mortal ethics held little to no meaning to most fairyfolk. Steve was pretty sure the stranger wouldn’t understand it.

The Unseelie stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, his grey-blue eyes completely indecipherable. Steve didn’t look away.

The man made a gesture, waving at himself, then lifting his hand, empty palm up, which he clenched into a fist like he grabbed something, turned it down and made a motion like he set something down.

Steve frowned for a moment, and only understood the gesture because he knew what the question would be before it was asked. “You trying to know what I’d ask in exchange?”

The nod was the most feverish movement the fey did so far, not counting his escape attempt.

“I’m not offering you a deal,” Steve stated, aiming for a patient voice. “I’m offering my help. No loopholes and fine prints. No conditions and expectations. You want to give something, fine, we’ll discuss it. You don’t want or don’t have anything to offer, that’s okay too, I have no demands or right to ask.”

The fey looked utterly confused and completely lost. Steve didn’t blame him. The thing he just offered must have been unbelievable to anyone who didn’t spend more than a lifetime among the mortals. Fairies worked among deals and services, their whole society was built on favors and expectations. Willingly giving up a chance to make a sidhe, a noble fey indebted was perhaps unprecedented.

But what could this fey offer to Steve?

Nothing that Steve would need. He was doing good before his arrival and would do fine after his departure. He would continue to grieve Peggy and live his simple, magicless life - what could a strange, abandoned, injured fey offer in this situation?

There was no point asking anything.

And Steve would hate himself for not helping.

So it was totally simple, really.

Well…

“I have one request, though, if you don’t mind,” Steve added after the silence stretched too long. The Unseelie almost seemed relieved upon hearing this and Steve immediately smiled to himself. “I ask you to tell me if you decide to leave, especially if you do it for a long time or permanently. Don’t make me worry about you by just vanishing. Okay?”

Clearly it wasn’t a request the other expected, and seemed equally taken aback as before. Steve was sure if he’d try to flex his sixth sense, he could touch his confusion in the air.

Steve waited, patiently, since it was rather a lot to swallow at once.

He thought the stranger would simply nod or shake his head, and that’ll be the end of the story. He thought he’d lay down again and sleep some more, since he was almost on the brink of death a few hours ago. He thought the Unseelie had no reason to decline such an offer and once he was over the fact that it was offered at all, he’d be pleased to have it.

Instead, the fey stood up. His movements were slow and careful, but that unearthly grace had already started to filter back to them, his steps lighter and his posture more poised than before. He stalked closer and stopped in front of Steve, at arm’s distance.

Then he offered his right hand.

Steve’s gaze slipped at his face from the limb, questioning.

The fey shook his offered hand for emphasis, and pointed to his temple with his left.

“You… want me to do the telepathic connection? The one that made you flee in the first place?” It was Steve’s turn to be shocked.

It was tempting, really tempting. Steve was dying to know what was in the stranger’s head, to hear his mental voice and get some answers out of him.

But he wasn’t sure the offering was made in a manner that would be acceptable to Steve.

He wasn’t sure the Unseelie understood that Steve didn’t _expect_ him to do this, and didn’t _need_ him to do anything. Even an honest offering could be bitter with the wrong motivations, and a few minutes ago this fey was completely weirded out by the implication of telepathy.

Steve wasn’t one to force any intimate connection on anybody.

“No,” he smiled. “It’s not necessary. If you really want to tell me something, you’ll have the chance later.” He pushed back his seat to stand up without invading the other’s personal space. “We’ll figure out another communication method, one that isn’t startling. If you still want it, telepathy as an option will be there after.”

He took up the tablet he settled on the table previously, and smiled at the speechless fey. “Signal to me if you need something. Three knocks on something wood, perhaps? With left pinky and from under, if you’re superstitious, but that’s not necessary. Anyway it’s up to you, really.” He glanced down at his belongings because his guest’s dumbfounded stare started to be too much. He started off, then stopped abruptly. “Like I said, this isn’t a deal. There is nothing that holds you here if you want to go… except that I’d like to help you. Keep that in mind before you decide to run.” There was a certain sadness in his voice at the thought that the stranger, the first and only sidhe he had met for decades, would simply disappear, but he couldn’t help that risk.

“The couch is all yours, make yourself at home and rest.” He walked out of the room.

The fey didn’t stop him, though Steve felt his gaze between his shoulder blades long after he wasn’t visible from the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Please leave a comment and/or visit [my tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com) and let me know! :)


	3. Getting there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living together isn't as easy as it seems. There are a few bumps on the road. But they'll figure it out eventually... right? 
> 
> Unless one of them fucks it up. 
> 
> Congratulations, Rogers.

Steve returned to the living room only as the evening settled in.

He wasn’t sure he’d find the fey, especially after the hours of quiet from inside, but he was there. He was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, in a position that seemed comfortable but at the same time made it possible to jump to his feet immediately.

Steve brought fruits from the garden. The Unseelie eyed them suspiciously.

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just human food,” Steve shrugged. “I’m not even sure you're ready to handle some Summer goodness yet.” He had some, of course, and he didn’t mind sharing it. Giving shelter to pixies twice a year had its perks, and they delivered the finest wine among Fairy Land if they thought someone deserved it. Steve’s hospitality, apparently, was enough to earn the highest quality.

Still, he wasn’t sure a fiery drink like that would be good for a Winter Fey.

Plus, based on his behavior so far, he’d suspect it a trap if Steve were to offer anything more than freshly picked nectarine.

Steve sliced it evenly, and held his hand above the plate for a traditional blessing. “To myself and my guest. May they enjoy my hospitality as long as it lasts, may no harm come to us within my borders.” It felt almost dizzying, saying such words in the company of another sidhe. It didn’t need additional magic, the blessing being rooted in hundreds of years of tradition. The sentences had their own power, and Steve felt it tickling on his skin, settling behind his eyes, caressing his insides with velveteen bonds.

The fey seemed to be alarmed only for a second, then he stood up to perform a bow – as a thank you, Steve supposed, though he couldn’t be sure. The gesture was a very formal variant, one that Steve usually saw performed to royals, not a simple host. A little voice in the back of Steve’s mind tried to protest against it, saying it’s not right to accept such a gesture, but most of him was grateful.

The bow showed that the fey was very much aware how bizarre their situation was, and he wasn’t going to shy away from addressing it. This resonated well with the straightforwardness Steve offered, and he admired the bravery it needed. Whoever the guest was, he had balls, as humans would say.

Steve watched, curiously, the guest’s process of eating, because the mask still was on and--

But as the Unseelie lifted fruit slices to his mouth, they went right through the black fabric without any resistance. Steve blinked, and sighed.

Fucking magic could make everything either really difficult, or really easy.

They spent the dinner in complete silence, then Steve wished him goodnight and left him alone for the time being.

***

The next morning, Steve found an envelope in his mailbox, handmade paper carefully sealed closed. He frowned and broke the wax spider in half, revealing the message scribbled with neat handwriting.

 _“Interesting guest you have there,”_ was all the letter said, and Steve could imagine Natasha's wry tone perfectly.

What he couldn't possibly imagine is how she knew. It made sense, strangely, because that’s what Natasha did best: she knew things. But hearing about the injured Unseelie the day after his arrival was a bit of a wild concept, unless she spied on Steve, which would have made zero sense to begin with.

Steve sighed and put the letter away in the cupboard, next to the other ones he had received over the years, one at each third month unless something remarkable happened that was worth writing about it out of schedule. Neat little reminders that he wasn't entirely forgotten, at least one person was out there who checked up on him.

Steve usually answered Natasha's letter right after receiving it but he had no idea what to say now, so he just put it away, in a vain hope he'd be smarter the next day.

Of course he wasn't.

After a week Steve accepted defeat and the fact that he wasn't going to answer at all. If Natasha wanted something, she could send another letter with clarification, he supposed.

***

They established a routine quickly, without need for much discussion.

Steve got back to waking up at precisely 6AM again – something that hadn't happened in months. He kind of… lost count a bit. It couldn’t be years, because at least the aging of his animals would have given that away, but he honestly had no idea about the exact length of the time period. Most fey didn’t need to worry about time as a given, but Steve developed an almost reliable inner clock while living with Peggy, only to lose it again after her passing away.

Something about the newcomer… something about Ainsel had started up that internal clock again. Yes, though without permission, Steve had named the guest. He was fed up with referring him only as 'the Winter Fey' in his head, so he decided to baptize the fella if only for Steve's peace of mind, and he stuck with the most common false name that had ever existed for their kind. It was still better than just dubbing him as ‘the other sidhe’ all the time.

The chickens, goats, and horses didn’t complain about the earlier feeding time. And Steve spent more time each morning in the garden, maintaining it with attention once again and tending it with gentle hands and collecting enough food for two instead of one. It was as organic as anything in this world could be, which was the best he could do for the injured fey. Steve had absolutely zero idea about a Winter Fey’s diet and he wasn’t in a position to ask anyone, since the communication with the only one around was still limited to nonverbal methods. Then Steve cooked – or, actually, _they_ cooked.

It wasn't implicit from the start. When Ainsel first showed up in the kitchen, Steve nearly tripped over his own feet. "What are you doing here?" he asked, incredulous.

The other looked pointedly at the knife in Steve's hand, with which he had barely even started cutting some vegetables with. Steve followed his gaze and shook his head.

“Why would you need a kitchen knife? I witnessed you pulling a blade out of nowhere, if you've somehow forgotten. I assume you have even more around you somewhere, so thanks, I'll keep my potato peeler.”

Ainsel rolled his eyes. The gesture was magnificently expressive, which meant either natural talent for sarcasm or long-suffered practice. Probably both.

“What?”

Ainsel imitated walking with his fingers.

“Of cour– okay, you don't need to ask that, you can come here.” It took a moment until Steve realized the intent behind the cautious question, and he puffed up immediately. “I'm not afraid of you,” he protested against the mere idea.

Steve got another eyeroll (this time it felt more shy than ironic), a dismissive but not rude hand gesture, and on top of those the fey himself next to him, though not too close. Even though they were in a small room with limited space, Ainsel made sure to keep some sort of distance while he fished out the knife from Steve's fingers.

Steve let it, and just to be contrary he refused to step away.

Ainsel glared. Steve looked back with false innocence. Ainsel looked away first.

Then he pointedly started to chop away the vegetables Steve had put out to make lunch of it.

“You... just wanted to help,” Steve realized, way too late, and felt his ears flattening to his skull in embarrassment, the tips turning pink. Or probably bright red. He was aware that he had gorgeously long eartips even by sidhe standards, but it also meant his embarrassment showed spectacularly well.

The winter fey shrugged and continued the work, ignoring the tension in the air while Steve just stood there awkwardly like the pile of misfortune he felt himself to be at the moment. Being rude wasn't his intention, yet he managed to be exactly that. Lucky for him, his guest was too polite - or felt too much indebted - to discommend.

As Steve watched, he was almost able to forget just how dire the conditions of their meeting had been and how weak Ainsel must feel himself. Whatever shape the winter fey was in, he didn't show sign of weakness or discomfort. Only once he had to grab the edge of the kitchen counter until he regained his balance after he turned too quickly for the next carrot.

Steve finally stepped away, toward the fridge. “Okay, what if... I think I'll do the roast then,” he mumbled, and Ainsel nodded, still not looking up from the cutting board.

They worked in complete silence until the copious lunch - more like a feast, really, with various dishes - was ready, and from that afternoon it became part of the daily routine to cook together.

Ainsel helped, happily and professionally chopping ingredients and seasoning whatever meat or sauce Steve decided to do with precision and care. He wasn’t nearly as practiced as Steve, but he had natural talent. Good taste and good smelling came handy during kitchen work, after all.

The first day Ainsel tried to just put some meat on a plate and go to the couch with it, but Steve firmly set a house rule against this behavior. Lunch was their main dish, so there was no way they weren't eating it together at the table. After all, what the world would turn into if even fey abandoned manners?

Even though the silence of these occasions weirded Steve out.

Ainsel washed the dishes then continued his rest – sometimes asleep, sometimes awake – while Steve sat in front of his tablet or computer, usually in another room. To any questioning glance, he shrugged. “I have work to do.” Which was true, if someone nobly overlooked just how irregular he had been with his work lately, and also didn’t reveal the fact that he had postponed all of his commissions in favor of studying the various sign languages. More often than not, 'work' really meant settling down with some online courses and free seminars on ASL nowadays.

They didn’t spend the evenings together. Whenever twilight settled, the Unseelie snuck out and didn’t return until dawn. Steve never asked where he went.

***

Of course, the situation wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

His garden wasn't exactly in a good mood. So far the plants only knew the blessing of the presence of a summer sidhe. Even without active magic, Steve's mere presence was helpful to the flora around him. His proximity urged on growing and blossoming and fruitfulness.

The Winter Fey, on the other hand, was quite the opposite - and his presence got stronger each day. Steve didn't feel it, because he didn't try to reach out again for him, but the ambience told him enough.

Sometimes Ainsel's footsteps left frosted spots on the ground. Some flowers simply refused to open their petals when the Unseelie was around them. Each morning, Steve could see the path Ainsel took in the garden because the plants' colors were paler, their petals less hydrated, the branches more drooped.

Naturally, the garden didn't like this particular change, but it wasn't something a winter fey did on purpose and neither something Steve could do anything against. Even if he had active powers like others of his people, fighting against the natural order of things wouldn't really be sustainable.

The queasy orchids should endure mild inconveniences like this.

On day three Steve didn’t pay attention in the garden, and cut his own hand. Stupid of someone who was able finish off seven trained fighters with a sword simultaneously, but his thoughts wandered back to his guest again and again and the roses were in a grumpy mood too, not cooperating at all, so his knife slipped and he almost managed to cut off three of his own fingers.

Luckily, the damage was not that severe, but still it hurt and bled. Steve cried out and cursed himself. Loudly.

To his utter surprise, a cold Unseelie fighter whirlwinded out of the house almost immediately, sword in one hand, knife in the other, tall and straight and vibrating with a deadly aura of murderous intentions while he danced around looking for the enemy to slay.

Steve stared at him, kneeling in the rosebed, bleeding finger between his slightly parted lips.

The first shock was that his guest didn’t hesitate for a second: the moment his paranoia suggested Steve might be in danger, he rushed to the rescue. Whether it was chivalry or just tactical instinct to help an ally, it was moving.

The second, and probably even bigger shock was just how magnificent Ainsel looked. His composure was admirable on a simple day too, but in the face of the possible danger, he hid every sign of weakness. His visible skin wasn’t pale, but white and shining like snow itself. His left arm even seemed like glinting silver for a few moments. His eyes darkened, passionate fire lighting them up from inside, making them stand out in his face even more. The unsettling mask was in place, of course, but it just gave his face even sharper edges. His hair and his clothes, both dark, flowed in the air like clouds of a cruel storm that was ready to wipe out everything that got in its way. His movements just added to this effect, fluid and elegant yet lethally efficient.

Ainsel, once he smelled a fight, didn’t hide his true nature at all. He was a hunter, a predator, a _weapon,_ and he knew it and used to his advantage. Steve almost felt _sorry_ for not being able to witness him in real action. He was sure that it would be a bloody beautiful sight.

Still, in this particular case it inevitably led to that awkward moment, when the Winter Fey realized there was absolutely no danger in a hundred miles radius, and he did all of this in vain. And in front of Steve’s eyes.

To his credit, he didn’t blush. He just lowered his sword and knife and he… shrunk back on himself again, the fight visibly going off of his muscles, his posture loosening up. He probably sucked back whatever energy he emitted too, because the next moment he seemed… well, ordinary. As ordinary as any fey could get, but the predatory feeling disappeared like it never was there, and the lines of his body got back their sharpness, not blurring into blizzard anymore.

Steve took his finger out from his mouth and tried to smile. “Uhm, hi there,” he waved. “It’s okay, there’s no danger.”

Ainsel’s unimpressed stare conveyed the words _‘I can clearly see that, dumbass’_ with crystal clarity. Then he cocked his head, like asking: _‘so what made you scream?’_

“Uh,” Steve said rather intelligently, then licked his blood off before it could drip. Give sidhe blood to a land once and it’ll demand it forever, so not a good idea. He didn’t plan to start watering with his own vitals. “I think you can make a pretty educated guess.” There was no way he’d admit out loud that he had just cut himself because he wasn't paying attention.

The Unseelie tilted his head back, his chest and shoulders rose and down rapidly… it took three seconds for Steve to understand: the other was laughing at him. Soundlessly, but he was laughing. Steve stood up, felt himself blushing, but the corners of Ainsel’s eyes crinkled with his joy and when he opened his eyes they shone in a way they hadn’t before. He pointed to Steve, shook his head, and went back to the house, limping with every second step and putting a hand on his side, the ethereal grace gone from his movements.

***

Ainsel had nightmares. Some days, during his afternoon naps, he started tossing and turning, or he sweated while his limbs trembled, or his whole body shook violently. He never groaned, or cried out; he never made a noise or said a word, but Steve had his own fair share of bad dreams and bad memories so he recognized the symptoms anyway.

Steve wanted to ask, but knew he couldn’t.

So instead he made sure to make some loud noises in the next room whenever he thought the other might need a wake up call. Even he had more sense than to approach Ainsel directly, but he wasn’t above sacrificing some fine china he hated anyway if it was for a good cause.

Ainsel pretended he didn’t notice the pattern.

Sometimes even a sidhe could be generous like this, it seemed.

***

It took a week for Steve to actually feel confident enough in his signing knowledge to approach Ainsel. That afternoon, instead of moving to another room and letting him have his peace, Steve settled down on the couch with various papers and a laptop on his lap.

“So,” he started, feeling the sharp gaze on him, “I guess we should start to figure out a communication method beyond meaningful looks.”

The fey frowned, clearly not happy, but offered his hand, like he did on that first day.

“No, no no no,” Steve hastily said. “You misunderstood me. I’ve found this sign language and started to learn it and I’m pretty sure you’ve used it beforehand, when you tried to introduce yourself. That’s one route to start it. The other is...” he turned the laptop, showing the screen, “the English alphabet.”

The Unseelie’s eyes lit up at the mention of the sign language, and he didn’t seem displeased by the idea of learning a new writing system either. Moreover, he stood up and pulled a stack of papers out from under the couch.

Steve took them, and couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight of shaky, frustrated letters inked there, with unstable connections between them or being repeated over and over and over again until the outline of them was clear and confident enough.

“Look at that,” Steve said, not hiding the smug edge from his tone. “You are full of surprises.”

Steve was pretty sure Ainsel was grinning under the mask, but he also shrugged nonchalantly.

Steve remained silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts, but then set the laptop and papers aside, only keeping the printed ASL alphabet at hand. “So, let’s start again, shall we?” he raised his hand, also showing while talking. _“Nice to meet you. I’m S-T-E-V-E-R-O-G-E-R-S.”_ He carefully signed each letter of his name, like he saw in video tutorials and practiced during late afternoons.

“ _Nice to meet you,”_ Ainsel’s hands said with a certain amount of enthusiasm, then he grabbed a paper. _“I’m...”_ His writing was maybe at the level of a middle grader, not like Steve knew many of those midgets. He never had to be around kids much, thanks to Mother Nature. But the words scribbled down weren’t uncertain beyond being unpracticed.

“BUCKY BARNES,” the writing said. The fey repeated the exact movements that he tried to sign at that very first morning, flattening and curling his fingers way faster than Steve did. _“B-U-C-K-Y,”_ he emphasized.

They smiled at each other, Steve was sure despite not seeing it.

“Yeah. I’m actually glad you fainted into my flowers,” Steve admitted.

Bucky threw a pen at him and signed something so fast Steve couldn’t understand it. It was, probably, for the better.

***

Everything seemed so much easier when Steve could name Bucky in his head. Calling someone 'Ainsel' was better than just dubbing them as 'the Unseelie' or such all the time, but the name Ainsel had no real meaning and no real power behind, and therefore it left frustration in its wake after a while.

It made 'Ainsel' taste bitter, and knowing the real one made the nickname that didn't bother Steve until this point become uncomfortable like a cloth that had been outgrown. He strongly suspected that 'Bucky' was part of his True Name somehow, because it had a chilly aftertaste in Steve’s mouth and even in his fingers after signing it.

Whenever Bucky heard or saw his name, he straightened up.

***

On the third week of Bucky's presence, there was another envelope with the spider-insignia seal. Another one-liner message.

_"Still haven't killed each other? I'm impressed."_

Of course there wasn't a signature: the seal alone could have identify the consignor even if Steve hadn't know Natasha's handwriting.

He briefly considered showing it for Bucky, then dropped the idea immediately. He didn't want to freak him out, and he still had no idea how Natasha knew about the Winter Fey's presence.

Maybe she kept tabs on Steve, after all. He wasn't sure if he was happy or disappointed by this thought.

***

Steve’s lips thinned into a line as he read the response from the commissioner. It had been a while since one of his customers had been disappointed in his work. He resisted the urge to curse, only because Bucky was in the room, who might not be used to the mortals strong use of language that would have been so impolite in the courts. Cursing and cussing was not very faerie-like.

Not like Bucky could be said to be a typical fey.

As Steve’s thoughts wandered around this, the wrinkles in his forehead deepened. He had noticed it from the beginning, but he’d needed some time to be able to pinpoint his discomfort.

Bucky wasn’t _just_ quiet, or withdrawn – both attitudes understandable in his situation.

Most of the time, he didn’t… act like a sidhe would at all.

It didn’t necessarily meant bad behavior, quite the opposite.

Bucky wasn’t above showing his excitement over communication, something Steve never experienced from stone-faced Unseelie Fey.

When Steve lit up the fire in the fireplace, Bucky was instinctively drawn closer, turning so his whole left side would enjoy the source of warmth – again, not something one would expect from a member of the Winter Court.

But even more distressing were the things he _didn’t_ do.

He didn’t laugh. Okay, with the mask on his face, that was expectable and forgivable. But he didn’t do _anything_ just to get a kick out of it. He didn’t do anything that Steve had not given him explicit _permission_ to do so. He didn’t pick up books from the shelves unless Steve suggested one of them. He didn’t touch any appliances or furniture without at least a questioning look before, and those were rare occasions. After the first initial acceptance, he didn’t worry about the food - like he either expected Steve to trick him anyway and resented him for it, or like he trusted Steve to hold himself to his promise, both possibility equally and terrifyingly unusual from a fey.

As far as Steve was aware, Bucky didn’t seek out contact with anyone. He didn’t try to entertain himself either, he didn’t draw or dance or whatever else that fey often did to keep themselves from boredom. Bucky was completely content just sitting motionless in one place and staring into the thin air for hours.

This eerie stillness made Steve’s skin crawl. He knew many and various fairyfolk through his life, and technically many kinds of them existed who preferred calm over chaos and stillness over movement, but never the high class fey, never court’s immortal nobles. Being a sidhe usually meant that they always fiddled with something, whether it was a plan to figure out, a charm to make perfect, or a piece of art to finish.

The danger of boredom was something even Steve couldn’t overcome despite more than a lifetime spent in mortal lands.

There must have been a reason behind this stillness, a story to discover, and Steve itched to ask but restrained himself. He wasn’t an insensitive bastard, he had manners. He was the High Captain of King Anthony once, dammit, it’s not like he couldn’t maneuver between secrets.

Revealing Bucky’s wasn’t a matter of security, or a task given by an authority. It was just a matter of curiosity – something that Steve definitely could keep in check.

Bucky’s slowly building trust, that precious thing that started to shine through his eyes sometimes during their mute lunches together when Steve signed something that amused him, was worth more than that.

***

“I’m glad you picked a sign language that I can actually understand,” Bucky wrote one time.

“ASL seemed like my best bet since we’re in this country,” Steve hummed while removed the bandages from Bucky’s torso, refusing to admit if it was sheer luck indeed. He had done some research, after all. “I’m glad you started to learn the Latin alphabet.”

Bucky made a face under his mask. “I know two sign languages actually, so your chances weren’t bad.”

“How did you learn them, anyway?”

“A friend taught me.”

Steve waited, but Bucky didn’t elaborate further.

“What about the writing, then? Also a friend?”

Steve observed the wounds and noted to himself that Bucky recovered relatively fast. It wasn’t an unusual feat among sidhe, but wasn’t universal either. Though admittedly it was something that could be taught to a body, and therefore warriors often had decent healing abilities. They needed to have it.

“Went to a local library in the town nearby, got some help there,” Bucky explained, though his letters got more and more shaky as his fingers got tired of the still unusual activity.

Steve stopped and stared at him for a few second, before picking up the pace again and he continued the first aid. He had never asked, and Bucky had never said anything about his evening routes. Apparently he wasn’t roaming the roads alone, but spent time among humans at least a few times.

Steve bit his tongue not to demand more information. It was Bucky’s business. Bucky owed Steve nothing. Steve didn’t have any right to pry. Therefore it was time to change - or change back - the subject. “See, if you’d pick Arabic, then we could’ve shared super secret messages no other could read here,” he tried to smile.

“You know another human writing system?” Bucky’s surprise was actually pretty offending, all things considered. But it made a decent practice for him, while Steve had the excuse of the bandaging for not signing in answer, just saying the words out loud.

He applied a layer of herbal cream. Bucky’s skin almost vibrated under his fingers, no matter how careful Steve’s movements were, like he mentally restrained himself from flinching away but couldn’t help the nervous ticks as his body reacted to the touch on a subconscious level.

Steve didn’t want to think about a reason that could cause a reaction like this, but couldn’t stop his wandering mind either. Maybe they both needed the conversation as a distraction.

“Arabic and Cyrillic. Also three different fictional alphabets from fantasy literature,” Steve admitted. Bucky somehow seemed both impressed and horrified, while his mask was still on his face. Steve started to cover the almost-healed wounds in bandage again. “Sometimes I use them in my designs. I’ve always liked drawing; so drawing letters instead of figures weren’t that much of a difference, and the systems are pretty easy.”

Bucky stayed still and held his breath as Steve finished the first aid, and closed his eyes and let his head loll back when Steve lifted his hands.

“Maybe you could teach some more later,” he signed then, not looking up again, just sagging back against the couch cushions some more. “Sounds like a nice way to spend the time here.”

Steve smiled. “If you’d like to learn it, I’ll definitely teach you.”

***

“Wanna?” Steve offered one evening, uncertain, as he turned the volume up on the hifi. He had picked out a CD, and after a few seconds a modern interpretation of Vivaldi swirled through the air like the melody was magic in itself, the strange harmony blossoming among a surprising matching of supposedly disharmonious sounds.

Bucky didn’t answer, despite turning his head to listen more carefully to the music.

“Oh come on,” Steve said. “I didn’t ask for your hand in marriage, just a dance.”

Bucky’s blank look made obvious that it wasn’t the most clever phrasing Steve could have used, something which he realized the moment the words slipped through his lips. Only humans thought of dancing as a mostly romantic act; to fey the two were almost entirely separated.

Dancing, just like any other art, was for either having fun or having a chance to backstab your rivals in court machinations.

The latter, of course, was out of the question right now.

“I don’t bite,” Steve signed as a mean of encouragement, then grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled him to his feet. Bucky’s eyes crinkled but he came willingly, which Steve interpreted as him not minding the overstepping of boundaries.

Bucky freed his hand. “Only if it’s your people’s dance, not mine,” he warned with cautious movements, but then placed his hand back to Steve’s palm and let himself be lead on.

Steve toyed with the idea of asking why, but decided against it. Wasn’t the right moment. He took Bucky’s hand instead, not really wondering why he wore gloves inside again and tentatively twirled him around.

Bucky followed, and stepped back closer in the end, hooking an arm around Steve human-styled.

His smile was careful. Steve didn’t need to actually _see_ it to know. Bucky’s palm felt cold through the fabric of his shirt as it rested on his back, and a faint warmth creeped up Steve’s cheek as he realized how delicately he held Bucky’s right hand.

He lead them through the living room’s open space in a series of complicated steps, following an ancient pattern he consciously barely remembered but his body knew anyway. Bucky didn’t made any mistake as he mirrored Steve, almost flying through the air with grace rarely expected from people their size. The music swirled around them, its embrace covering them like a comfortable blanket, dulling the strangeness of the new situation.

Bucky experimentally tried to pull them to the left, changing the course of their movements. Steve swiftly stepped in front of him and countered, not giving up the lead for even a second.

As he channeled Bucky’s momentum into their next turnover, he couldn’t help but smile. Here they were, two abandoned souls, as far from their respective courts as possible, yet performing the most traditional dance imaginable. The hifi and the music coming from it couldn’t be more modern, but the steps they did were rooted in millenias’ heritage, and it just felt… right.

To dance with Bucky.

To let the music wash through them, empty them of worries and sadness and loss, let themselves just breathe and move and _be_ for brief seconds, without second-guessing themselves and the world around them. They were warriors, so they moved their bodies almost effortlessly, and when Steve lifted Bucky from the ground to try an acrobatic element, Bucky didn’t hesitate, leaping into the air with such carelessness that Steve was sure he had practiced countless times before.

The music sped up, and they kept up with the pace, twirling and jumping at Steve’s wordless commands. Bucky tried to take lead once again, and Steve stopped him once again, and  then it was settled and accepted. Steve couldn’t even blame Bucky for trying. Of course he tested – Steve would’ve done the same in his place.

Both of them seemed to be pleased with the result, however, and after the second attempt, Bucky finally relaxed into their dynamic completely. The previously graceful movements become ethereal from that point on, and Steve had to admire it even as he was part of it.

Bucky’s right hand felt almost warm in his hand while the left was cold as ice on his back, anchoring Steve in the present, not letting his thoughts drift away. Even the room around them seemed like it tripped over itself to give them space for more complicated maneuvers, but Steve didn’t pay attention: his focus was completely on Bucky now, obedient in his arms, following his lead with a certain shine in his eyes and calm in his mind, reassured by clear roles and feasible expectations at last.

Steve enjoyed these moments in their fullness, but somehow started to see himself from an outside point of view as well, straight posture and smooth steps and confident guidance. He was sure of it because he _saw_ that his skin was shining with amber Summer magic despite not having much of it in him, and his pleasure showed in his joyful eyes, easing Bucky even more and making the image of Steve even more clear in Steve’s own head.

Steve felt more than heard the content sigh as Bucky released his grip more and more on himself, seeping peach-colored relief, because it was so long since he had let himself relax – so long on the run, always glancing behind, always minding where to go, what to do, how to avoid what’s forbidden; and it wasn’t easy to let go, but Steve made it easier. And Steve didn’t even question it, nor the source of the knowledge, just appreciated his own positive effect, his heart speeding up with the joy of it.

Bucky wasn’t sure why he trusted this strange, inexplicable sidhe with the clouded-blue eyes, but at these moments he did. He wasn’t sure if following someone was the right thing to do - but he was left to his own devices and it meant constant high alert and it was just _so damn good_ to let that go, and relax, and respond without conscious thoughts, and bathe in in Steve’s wordless praise, Steve’s admiration of their combined beauty and wonder for Bucky’s movements and all of the bright-yellow-pleasured feelings. Because Steve was obviously so pleased and he enjoyed taking the lead as much as Bucky did following him, and it was almost magical: each other’s contentment being mirrored and reflected back, strengthened and amplified even further…

It took a while for Steve to realize what was going on, and it broke the atmosphere for him.

The stream of feelings and their colors came to a halt, hovering at the edge of his vision, and Bucky looked up with a mildly questioning glance, though they continued dancing.

Steve’s first instinct was to stop, immediately, and he nearly did that. He caught himself just in time, directing Bucky into another reverse turn instead, studying what was visible of Bucky’s face, especially his eyes.

Not like he needed that much, after being inside Bucky’s headspace just a second or so ago.

Taking a deep breath, Steve tightened his hold on Bucky’s hand, and forced himself to _slowly_ let loose the mental connection, to do it step by step instead of breaking it violently. To draw back with caution instead of cutting it, probably hurting both parties with the recoiling edge of such a harsh action.

He pulled his magic back like a caressing hand, brushing the colorful emotions one last time before cautiously closing himself off from them, like gently folding the wrinkled pages of a book into place, like putting clothes on sun-kissed skin. The colors were completely gone halfway through it, and the feelings followed them soon after; Steve sighed at the loss despite his best efforts.

Bucky still seemed relaxed, if a bit confused, up until Steve finished their dance with a last swirl and a bow, and let go of Bucky’s hand, cutting the last fragment of the remaining link between them.

It was almost heartbreaking. Steve didn’t need mental connection to read body language, and as soon as they stopped and stood in one place, music still floating around but not embracing them anymore, the tension snapped back to Bucky’s spine and muscles like a rubber band that was being pulled taut. His eyes cleared up, his attention sharpened – the ease disappeared from him completely, and was replaced with the usual caution.

Steve wasn’t surprised, just disappointed. Somehow at those moments when Bucky hadn’t been guarding himself this much, he had been even more beautiful.

Bucky raised his hand – to thank him for the dance, to ask something, Steve never knew – but before he was halfway through the first sign his eyes widened with realization and his hand fell back at his side and his face crumpled to an expression of undecipherable emotion.

“I’m… sorry?” Steve tried, his voice weak, and the euphoria of the shared experience fled quickly. Where Bucky's feelings had been a moment ago, there was only emptiness left, and Steve’s heart already ached for the lost connection.

Bucky just shook his head.

“I didn’t try to pry, my word on it, it wasn’t intentio–” Steve started to explain - he wanted Bucky to know what happened and that it wasn’t against him, wasn’t against their agreement and the not-exactly-a-promise-but-still that Steve made before, but Bucky raised his hand to silence him, and Steve had to respect that. As well as he had to respect Bucky’s decision when he turned on his heels and fled.

Steve didn’t go after him. “Congratulations, Rogers,” he muttered to the empty room.

He didn’t have the energy to even turn off the hifi. He went to his room and laid down on the carpet and stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep, desperately hoping that Bucky would come back once he cooled down.


	4. Warming up

Bucky did came back, though it took two days – two long days when Steve didn’t do anything besides sleep, lie on the floor, and feed the animals, because even if he was devastated, he wasn’t going to starve a living creature. 

One minute Steve was alone, and the next Bucky was standing in his door, staring down at him. Steve barely moved his head that rested on his hands.

“Why did you try to trick me after I’ve offered it twice?” Bucky asked, his movements carefully regulated into precision so as not to display any emotion

“I didn’t try to trick you,” Steve corrected on autopilot. “It wasn’t intentional,” he repeated the defense he tried to say immediately after, even though it felt like a lame excuse even to him.

Bucky raised a questioning eyebrow and folded his arms in front of himself. But he didn’t turn away, so Steve continued.

“You might’ve noticed that I don’t really… use magic.”

Bucky nodded, and it almost felt like an encouragement, and it made Steve sit up to face Bucky properly.

“That’s because I don’t really have. I mean. My father died before I was born so I never got his share of powers.” It wasn’t rare among the common fey to be half-orphaned but it was almost unprecedented in high-class sidhe to have only one parent, and therefore only one to give the newborn the magic it deserved. As a kid, Steve had been bitter about the lack of abilities; as an adult, he learned to forge it into an advantage. He couldn’t throw fancy fireballs, sure, but also most magic didn’t work on him either, so there was that. Nevertheless, he registered Bucky’s sharp hiss as he realized what Steve was talking about. “I’m almost completely magicless. What I have is this… I mean, I can control it, to an extent, but this was… I let my emotions get the best of me because I enjoyed dancing with you too much,” Steve finally confessed, feeling himself turning bright red. It wasn’t like he talked about his disability much – because it _was_ a disability - and he certainly wasn’t used to admitting out loud that someone’s presence was so pleasant he lost his grip on reality.

Because in reality, he wasn’t allowed to have such an intimate moment with a Winter Fey he barely knew, one whose face he had never even seen.

In the court, Steve would’ve been punished accordingly for his lack of manners, but they weren’t in the courts and Steve wasn’t sure anymore what rules applied to them. He felt like he had broken a promise, even though technically he never promised he wouldn’t do a telepathic connection, only that he didn’t think it necessary for Bucky to offer it in exchange of shelter.

Steve didn’t dare to look up at the other. “I stopped after I realized what was happening. I didn’t spy on you. It was just emotions.”

Seconds passed, dragged away by the deepening silence, and Steve realized he had closed his eyes only when Bucky nudged him with a foot to open them.

There was a pen and paper in one of Bucky's hands, while the other signed, almost frustrated “Don’t close your eyes when I’m talking!”

Steve disciplined himself from smiling at the other and patiently waited for him to scribble down his words on paper. Bucky's penmanship had improved rapidly but it still took a bit of time, especially if he wrote longer sentences.

“I freaked out. Didn’t know how much you’d seen. Didn’t want you to. But it’s not just your fault. I became careless too. I shouldn’t have left my guard down if I wasn’t ready for this.”

That made sense. Steve definitely didn’t have to overcome any magical barriers around Bucky, otherwise he would’ve been at least alerted – and probably stopped – earlier. Before any of this mess could’ve happened.

“I should’ve realized it too. But my experience with this kind of connection,” the pen stopped, hesitated for a while, then Bucky finished, “was really different than this.” He gave the paper to Steve and started writing the next one while Steve read. “Took me a while to believe what I got from you wasn’t simply a trick.” The next words got scribbled over so heavily that Steve couldn’t have read them even if he tried to, then there’s a question in the end. “Why did you tell me about your magic?”

Steve sat up and put both papers down in front of himself.

“I’m sorry I made you freak out,” he stated, as the most important thing, because it was true and because he wanted to make clear again it wasn’t his intention. “I admit, if I’d have looked for more, I could’ve… seen things. Probably.”

“I know,” Bucky interrupted with sharp signs, then scribbled as quickly as he could, “Took me a while to realize that you didn't experience any more than I did.”

Steve nodded. “That’s correct.” He did his best not to think about the fact that Bucky probably witnessed Steve swooning over him, how his thoughts of fondness and admiration must’ve echoed in Bucky’s head. That was just too embarrassing and strange to process at the moment.

There was an awkward silence, Steve wasn’t sure what to say next. He supposed neither of them could possibly deny how much they enjoyed their time together - he couldn’t, at least -; or the fact that somehow both of them got what they needed most from that dance. Bucky had a bit of tranquility, minutes of a safe inner quiescence; while Steve had someone to look after, someone to lead and someone to share himself with. And on top of that, now both of them _knew_ because they had been able to _see and sense_ how much they longed for it.

Embarrassing just wasn’t covering it.

“So why?” Bucky signed after a while.

Steve shrugged. “Seemed fair after I violated your privacy and ruined your trust.”

“But,” Bucky returned to pen and paper, “it’s not a violation, you showed yourself just as much as you’ve seen me!”

Steve remained silent, and Bucky wasn’t chatty as a default, so they just sat there, and it wasn’t awkward anymore. Steve was exhausted despite not doing anything all day; he wished he could just lay back down and sleep some more, but Bucky was there and it was good to look at Bucky, who came back and hadn't left forever after all. His presence was comfortable and Steve realized, not for the first time, that it was just plain old _good_ to share moments with him, no need to actually _do_ anything.

Then Bucky took a deep breath, and by the set of his shoulders Steve knew he had made some sort of decision, and Steve sat up straighter as well, bracing himself for a blow.

“You shared a secret with me, so I’ll share one with you too,” Bucky said with his hands, calm and determined.

“It’s not necess–” Steve tried, but there came that sharp, inexorable admonishment again, one that Bucky liked to use to make him shut up, so he shut up.

Bucky closed his eyes, sighed and relaxed. For a brief moment, Steve felt winter magic stirring up around him, but it was faint and distant to his senses. His eyes followed a movement that wasn’t actually there, then he looked back.

Steve blinked, speechless.

Bucky’s face was free and visible, the mask gone from his features.

Bucky was smiling, the familiar wrinkles around the edge of his eyes, but this time it was _all_ visible, the shy curve of the lips and the dimples on his face that were formed by the gesture, and his jawline that was the same as with the mask and at the same time somehow vastly different without it. The smile was a sweet and shy gesture, nervous around the edges but doing its best to hide it.

“But… how?” was all Steve was able to stutter. Not like he minded, not at all, but it was an unexpected twist, like a Christmas gift in June, and Steve needed a few minutes to adjust to the change. He instinctively reached out to touch Bucky’s skin, then yanked back his hand before Bucky could’ve pulled away.

Steve wasn’t sure his touch would’ve been welcomed and he wasn’t above admitting, if only to himself, that he didn’t want to risk the rejection by trying. Not right now, at least, because deep down he knew already that this will definitely change, given time.

Bucky’s smile widened, probably because of Steve’s reaction, and Steve felt his eartips reddening again in shame. He should have controlled himself better – even though, it seemed, his control was slipping all the time when it came to Bucky.

“It’s okay,” Bucky signed, and gestured to himself, like saying _‘well, this is me,’_ and Steve stared, his eyes hungrily soaking up the sight. This moment was a friendly reminder – or not so friendly, because it felt like a blow in the guts – of just how beautiful Bucky was. Steve for the first time started to suspect how mortals felt upon meeting fairies. For a brief moment, his existence was both humiliatingly small and infinitely huge; and suddenly everything seemed possible as long as Bucky was next to him.

He wished for more, and he didn’t even stop to analyze what this _more_ precisely meant, and he saw – or was it just wishful thinking? - a certain hunger in Bucky’s eyes too, if only for a moment. Then Bucky’s expression flickered, like candlelight in wind, and he stepped back, lifting his left hand.

His left arm gleamed in the fading lights of the evening, as it wasn’t flesh and blood. It was entirely silver, elegant and majestic, constructed of curved metal plates which overlapped and moved completely in sync, perfectly mirroring his arm on the right.

Steve found it mesmerizing, and realized Bucky was signing only after he snapped in front of Steve’s eyes once to regain his focus.

“Uh,” Steve said rather intelligently. “Could you repeat it?”

“You let me see you. Now I let you see me,” Bucky signed.

“You said you can’t take the mask off,” Steve blurted out.

Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, then grabbed the pen again. “I can’t take it off,” he emphasised the last word by underlining it. “I can take it back, though.” As a demonstration, the mask appeared again: it was like watching the growth of moss on a tree on extra fast-forward. It took just two seconds, and the black material was in its place, then another two to disappear again, like frost rime melting from glass.

“Amazing,” Steve whispered in awe, appreciating the magic and the twist of words as well, until the next thought occurred to him. “You did this to yourself? Put it _on yourself_?” As much as he tried, he couldn’t entirely mask the judgment in his voice.

Bucky shrugged and didn’t answer.

Steve bit his lip and didn’t push it.

***

Things settled back into the routine, but they changed, if only a little bit.

Bucky was a bit more carefree. Steve found him sitting with a book in hand that he didn’t ask permission to read. He came out and watched Steve when he tended the garden, twice. He suggested meals instead of accepting Steve’s choices.

And there were times, precious times, when the mask disappeared from his face and despite his best intentions, Steve caught himself staring each occasion. Which was a really terrible habit, because as soon as Bucky noticed, he blushed and the black material slipped back to place, and Steve mourned the lost chance.

Still, it was good. The experience - either the mental connection or the reveal afterwards, Steve wasn’t sure - did wonders for Bucky.

And somehow it did the exact opposite for Steve.

Even though he was sleeping a lot in Bucky’s absence too, his system needed the rest to recover from the strain the mental connection put him through. So he slept some more.

And the nightmares came.

Each night.

Nothing palpable, nothing he could understand. But as soon as he dozed off, his mind became filled with shapeless dread, looming terror and unidentified threats. Nothing he couldn’t handle - but also nothing he could make sense of. It would have been foolish to brush it off, though, because a Summer Fey’s dreams should be taken seriously as they oftentimes had prophetic aspects.

This wasn’t a soothing thought, even though Steve was pretty sure it wasn’t the case with him. He didn’t have enough magic for prophetic dreams, right? He never had in the past, at least, not counting that one assassination attempt, but that was the exception, probably just a rare fluctuation of external magic. Nothing he should be concerned about right now.

Of course, telling your guts to calm down when you don’t even know why you’re anxious in the first place was not exactly a functional solution.

It became Bucky’s turn to make sudden noises to wake him up when it seemed necessary. Luckily Bucky was creative and managed the task he wasn’t asked to perform without breaking anything. Which was, honestly, more than what Steve could achieve.

But Steve kept dreaming, and he hated every second of it.

“You have to be more tired when you go to sleep,” Bucky suggested. “Maybe physical exhaustion would help.”

Steve considered it for a moment, bloodshot eyes lingering over Bucky’s handwriting. The cursive got better with each written word, and he had quite an impressive, almost artistic-level penmanship by this time. Steve was proud of this development even though bucky seemed indifferent.

“Maybe,” Steve agreed, not really enthusiastic about the idea. It took… well, quite some time and effort to tire a sidhe out. Steve had been going on runs in the beginning of his time among the humans, but to not attract attention he usually had had to stop after a few hours, way before he really had started to feel that pleasant exhaustion, so he had given up the jogging entirely.

Bucky was probably aware of this, but still...

“I can help,” Bucky then offered, movements slow with uncertainty, far from his usual precision. “We could spar. I’m a good swordsman.”

“Okay,” Steve took a deep breath. Sparring with another sidhe? The mere idea made his blood running faster with anticipation. “Okay, then… but what if I… I mean, I didn’t intend last time, so what if I accidentally...”

Bucky shook his head, and his facial expression could maybe interpreted as amusement. If Steve squinted hard through his wishful thinking. “What, you afraid to enjoy sparring with me too much?” he wrote with a smile, but sobered up quickly. “I understand you can only see as much as you’re willing to show yourself as well, right? It’s a double-edged blade, can hurt you too. If an accident happens again, I’m willing to burn myself as much as you do.”

Steve tried his best to suppress the swelling pride that blossomed in his chest at those words, and not squeak like a teenaged mortal. It was a lot of trust – first, that Bucky believed his explanation about the mechanics of his abilities, and second, to be willing to take the risk. He wanted to jump to his feet, rush to Bucky and hug him tight until they both felt it in their bones.

That would have been very stupid of him, of course, so he stayed in place and only beamed slightly. “Alright. But I promise I’ll try to behave,” he winked. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning and make it a full day?”

Possibly more, but Steve didn’t want to scare Bucky away immediately. Still, he knew his own abilities, and the trainings he had. It didn’t matter that it was literally a lifetime ago.

“Where are we going?” Bucky’s signs seemed almost worried for a second.

“Not far away,” Steve shrugged. He wasn’t going to ruin his own carefully tended garden by helding a sparring practice in it, was he?

And this time Bucky was the one who withheld his questions.

***

So it turned out: Bucky was mouthwatering when riding a horse.

Okay, technically he was stunningly gorgeous all the time, but it amplified it even more. The rocking of his hips, the gentle confidence he handled the animal with, the ramrod straight posture almost magnetized Steve’s eyes.

It was pure luck that the two horses Steve kept – saying he owned them wouldn’t sit well in his tongue, so he avoided it – knew the way to the nearby clearing. Steve had often used it for this exact purpose, though he hadn’t been there since Peggy’s death. The familiar sight felt like a punch in the guts, reminded him too much of his deceased wife, but he gathered his bearings immediately. That was in the past, and he couldn’t change it, no matter how much he loathed it. Also as much as it hurt, it was the natural order of things. Mortals were not cut out for immortality, living a deathless life slowly but inevitable ruined them. Peggy deserved to live her life in its fullness, including death too.

Bucky was a good enough distraction from any depressing thought, though. He touched down from the horse the moment they arrived, offered his hand to help Steve down – and even though it would’ve been a sign of weakness among their own kind, it simply was a polite gesture among humans, so after a moment’s hesitation Steve accepted it, hoping Bucky wouldn’t misinterpret it as submission. Steve walked around, sorting through his memories.

They tied the horses some distance away, where they had access to a nearby stream and plenty of grazing, and wouldn't get caught up in the match.

Steve took care to bring weapons for the both of them, since he didn’t wish to die by Bucky’s sword, and he was pretty sure even a scratch from the enchanted blade would be deadly. He threw one of them to Bucky now, who caught it mid-flight and immediately positioned himself.

He stepped forward with left leg and lowered himself to be better centered. He held the sword in his left hand, with the right slightly raised behind for balance.

Steve smiled, switched the sword to his left hand as well and mirrored the position. He also was a double-handed fencer, and if the other wanted to play it like this… he wasn’t going to argue.

They studied each other for long seconds, both of them assessing the environment and their opponent. Steve didn’t find any flaw in Bucky’s posture. It was straight out of textbooks perfection: steady but not rigid, guarded but not too locked up, loose but not sloppy. Steve grinned at the thought of a skilled, equal opponent, and he felt his blood already singing in his veins.

He made the first move: just a simple upward slash, kind of like testing the waters before actually jumping into it. Bucky easily sidestepped and countered the blade with his own. Metal shrilled on metal as he tossed Steve’s blade aside, and Bucky actually growled. He couldn’t write or sign in this situation, so their communication was quite limited, but Steve could read from his eyes to some extent. _‘Are you fucking kidding me?’_ Bucky probably tried to convey with his deadly stare this time. _‘I’m not here to play childish games!’_

For which, honestly, Steve couldn’t blame him. Before he could step up, though, Bucky attacked.

Steve counted on him being good, but he didn’t imagine in his wildest dreams that Bucky would be _this good_. He was fast and light, yet awfully precise. He wasn’t wasting stabs in the dark: he knew where to hit and he was determined to achieve it. Steve barely managed to avoid the first few strikes, taken by surprise, and actually had to dance back a few steps.

“Nice,” Steve said, and threw every bit of caution out of the window, because even by these first vicious attacks he was sure he’d lose if he’d held anything back.

And Steve hated losing.

From that point on, it was kind of a blur. Slashes and strikes, hits and thrusts in rapid sequence, blocking and countering at every second step, dodging and evading all the time, dancing back and forth. Bucky used some ancient routine and Steve managed to touch down on his upper arm; Steve tried to use some traditional combinations and got hit on his wrist. It became obvious pretty quickly that their knowledge about practices and routines were more or less equal.

So they had to be creative to have a chance at overpowering the other.

Bucky was every inch of the warrior Steve predicted and even more. He was swift as an eagle, strong as an ox and stealthy as a cat. He never stopped for a second - not even for a fraction of a second: always was in motion for the next strike, and he rarely backed out of anything. He just kept going, more and more and more, until he successfully landed a hit or got one for trying.

Steve wasn’t less determined, he was here to win of course, but Bucky’s fighting style was different. As they danced around and Steve had more and more chance to analyze the patterns, he slowly started to realize what disturbed him most about all this. Both of them fought viciously, both of them were skilled – maybe even equally, as shocking as it was to admit - but Steve was okay with playing the long game, not rushing anything and waiting for the opportunities to come while maintaining the balance of the match. Bucky was… not impatient, no. Not hotheaded, either, which was often Steve’s mistake

Bucky fought like even a practice was a life or death situation.

He fought like he was desperate, like losing was not simply an unfortunate outcome to learn from, but something terrible and irretrievable. Bucky didn’t think about his own personal safety as long as something took him forward. He didn’t care if he got hurt or not, as long as he could use his momentum to his advantage. He wasn’t suicidal, per se, but he was careless when it came to minor injuries.

Steve knew it wasn’t really conscious: fighting styles in action rarely were. When in combat, things just happen too fast to rely on _conscious decision_ s _,_ to treat every situation like a separate incident. The fighter had made these choices long before the first opponent, the first thrust: they had made it at the training grounds when deciding what weapons to learn, in which style, from which master. They had made these decisions every time they had practiced, every time they had drew their training weapons, every time they had made mistakes that had been corrected, every time they had repeated the movements over and over and over again, until it became more natural than breathing, until they could do it perfectly in their sleep, until it was instinct and muscle memory wrapped in perfect control over the body.

Steve wondered briefly what kind of master Bucky must had have that sacrificing his own defense and personal safety was this axiomatic.

Of course, letting your mind drift for more than a heartbeat in a fight with such an opponent was a foolproof way to get beaten up, something Steve was reminded almost immediately when Bucky landed a hit on the dead center of his chest.

Steve stumbled back, breaths starting to get heavy. He was grateful that they weren’t using their normal weapons: he would be dead if it were a real blade with a real point.

Bucky danced back too, and while maintaining fencing position with the left, he raised his right hand to sign. “You’re good,” he stated.

“You too,” Steve agreed. “Way better than what I’ve expected, to be honest.”

Bucky nodded, like he shared this sentiment too.

“First hit was mine, first kill is yours,” Steve summarized, and Bucky nodded again. Then he saluted with the sword, and they were back at it again.

It was quite similar to their dancing, actually. They had a sync Steve didn’t expect to find, but was too busy enjoying to question. The rhythm of their fight mimicked some music that wasn’t audible but Steve felt in his very soul nonetheless, their movements coordinated by the ancient choreography of striking back and forth. Time didn’t matter anymore, nor did anything else in the world that wasn’t the one in front of them. Steve felt his mind closing in to their pair, felt everything else slipping away, but instead of panicking about the consequences of a possible slip, he just focused more on himself and his own movements. He realized he could use his ability: he could open himself up and offer his mind and take Bucky’s.

He would just need one little touch, to grab Bucky’s wrist maybe, and it would be done.

But Steve always won his battles without magic, he was always able to fight on his own. He was _proud_ to be the first (and last) High Captain without active magical abilities, he made sure for it to be of his advantage. He wasn’t going to change that. So he didn’t. The incident with Bucky was the first time he managed to open a mental connection unintentionally, and it had took him by surprise, but by now he was aware of that possibility. In this situation it was just a rather costly but also very tempting weapon among the arsenal. Steve refused to give in the temptation.

Technically, it wasn’t even _hard_.

Even during a fight, even while he had to figure out how to evade someone with the speed of a striking snake and the grace of flying eagle, Steve was aware of the chance of the soul-deep connection they could easily have if they, and especially him, would just give in and let his self-control slip.

But it wasn’t the right time. Steve had to win this fight first, and not by weaponizing something that wasn’t tinted by fight yet. His conscience couldn’t bear the latter - and his pride needed the former.  He wanted to stand above Bucky, he wanted to be victorious and then offer a hand and help Bucky to his feet, maybe pat him on the back, approving each other in a friendly camaraderie.

Which wasn’t happening if he didn’t pay attention to the actual fight instead of daydreaming, as he was rapidly reminded by another hit, this time on his bicep. Steve winced.

Bucky smiled. Sometimes during the match, the black fabric slipped away from his face, revealing his features, and now he smiled with a wolf’s smile and Steve wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, just a weapon in the arsenal or not, but it surely made him dizzy for a moment. A sidhe, a predator that didn’t hide his true nature, was breathtaking on a good day and Bucky was a special case even among them. To Steve, at least.

He had to stumble back even more, to the edge of the clearing actually, to regain his balance. “Not bad,” he commented, softly, almost gently. This time he didn’t wait for Bucky’s attack, though. It was Steve’s time to assault, to be vicious and ruthless as Bucky was, to use everything he could. Because he wanted to win – and, maybe, because he wanted to show Bucky that he could fight just as well as him.

He switched hands, throwing the sword from one to another mid-movement; he countered and side-stepped and tricked, he used every ounce of his body to slip through defences, he went and went and went, because Bucky didn’t do less and Steve wasn’t someone to give less either. He jumped and swirled and danced, countered and attacked and avoided, he called up every memory of his trainings. _Sting like a bee, bite like a wolf; be swift as a hawk and sly as a fox, move like the air between leaves and hit like lightning in a summer storm._ And Steve did.

It was, to Steve’s surprise, still an equal fight. Not even many of the Royal Guard were able to keep up with Steve’s speed and skills, and Bucky was able to do exactly that.

Minutes dragged to hours, and the light faded into night.

Both of them were sweating – rare occasion among elves – and both of them panted hard. Steve couldn’t lift his right hand anymore, numbed by a hit on a nerve, and Bucky stumbled with each step, limping to his left leg that he hadn’t guarded tight enough on several occasions. Their movements were far less graceful than in the beginning, injuries and exhaustion slowing them down.

Steve’s hair stuck to his forehead and his nose was bloody from a punch to it, but Bucky didn’t seem much better off, a bruise swelling on his cheek and his lower lip split open. The moonlight gave just enough light to see by, but not enough to see the full extent of their injuries.

Steve figured he had the advantage. Probably. He stopped counting hits a good while ago, but Bucky’s leg limited his movements and with an opponent like Steve, that was deadly. While holding eye contact, summoning his strength for the next round, he figured it would take a few more hits to bring Bucky down. They would be done by dawn, maybe.

If he wanted it to last that long.

The thought occurred to him as a complete surprise, and he swiveled a bit. They exchanged a few slashes, before dancing away from each other yet again to pant some more.

Steve toyed with the unusual idea. It was just a friendly training, nothing in the balance. They could just… _end it_. Without a winner.

He dropped to his knees and rolled away from a thrust, tasting the thought for one more second, before giving in.

“Stop!” he yelled, as soon as he was on his feet again. He raised his hand. “Stop,” he repeated. “Let it be enough.”

Bucky eyed him somewhat suspiciously. Steve didn’t blame him. They spent a whole day trying to overcome each other, his out of the blue surrender probably didn’t make any sense. Bucky pointed to Steve’s sword with his own, then to the ground. _Drop it,_ he meant without words.

Steve considered it for a moment, then opened his palm and let the weapon fall to the ground. _I trust you_ , he hoped he conveyed it with the gesture.

Bucky let down his sword too, chest heaving with harsh breaths and skin flushed with the heat of the training, and Steve wished he could kiss the drop of blood off of his split lip. He didn’t move, though, hands still up in the air.

“You give up?” Even Bucky’s signs seemed tired, dragging each movement after the other with particular effort.

“I call it even. Neither of us wins, but neither of us loses either,” Steve offered.

Bucky considered it. “Giving up is losing.”

“Maybe in the battlefield, yes. But it’s just a practice, and you’re as good as I am. I’m not ashamed to admit that.”

“Okay,” Bucky signed. He dropped the sword, and dropped himself as well, collapsing to the ground and staring up at the stars above them.

Steve didn’t hesitate to walk over and lay down next to him, hands next to his body and legs outstretched, flexing and relaxing the muscles consciously, waiting for his heartbeat and breathing to calm down, and his body to come down from the adrenaline high. It was a damn satisfying fight, among the best of Steve’s long life. He already wanted to repeat it. Maybe not right now, since first they’d have to take a rest at least, but after that. After that, Steve wasn’t opposed to a second match.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his own, gently caressing his skin. Steve glanced over, but Bucky stubbornly stared at the sky, even as he carefully entwined his fingers with Steve’s and gently squeezed them.

Steve looked away, staring up as well, but he knew he was blushing bright red and his ears wriggled in sync with the butterflies in his stomach and instead of calming down his heartbeat was even more frantic than before. It was okay, though.

The sky was bright and beautiful, and for the first time in a very very long time, Steve felt his future might be as well.

***

Steve didn’t intend to sleep, but the fight was good and he was tired and Bucky caressed his hand rhythmically: his heart slowed down and his breaths evened out and he just closed his eyes for a second, really.

Only it wasn’t just a second, and apparently neither exhaustion nor a cool touch on his skin helped with his nightmares, because there they were again.

He knew he was dreaming; he always knew. He would never freeze like this in the face of danger in reality; terror would never hold his tongue or tie his limbs like this in reality. He would fight back, he would look for the source, he would move and attack and either die standing or defeat whatever enemy this was.

But in a dream? In a dream he couldn’t move, in a dream he couldn’t fight back, and maybe that was the most terrifying part of it.

Only this time, he wasn’t alone. He felt a hand on his own and looked down, to see intertwined fingers and an arm made of bright silver, reflecting light that didn’t have a source; an arm that was wrapped around his chest in the next moment, in a protective sort of way.

That wasn’t right.

Protection always was Steve’s job. He looked up at Bucky, trying to draw attention to this, but it wasn’t Bucky, at least _not entirely._ The mask wasn’t sitting right on his face, it wasn’t just covering his features, it was swallowing him whole, black void and sharp teeth, and Bucky’s eyes were terrified again as the shadows grew around the pair of them, multiple heads and scaly legs and a long, dangerous tail.

Steve couldn’t see what the shadow-creature exactly was, but he had no doubt it was trouble. He wanted to go, to run, to drag Bucky away, but the arm that was protecting him a moment ago was holding him down now, too strong to break free of.

All he could do was stare. Stare into the shadow that felt almost like a living creature now, stare into Bucky’s face that wasn’t Bucky anymore, wasn’t even terrified anymore, just empty, empty, _empty_.

Steve was weaponless, magicless, _helpless_.

He wanted to scream, but couldn’t even do that as a tendril of the shadows filled his mouth and muffled his voice, filling him with cold, cold, _cold_ dread again.

He woke up to Bucky shaking him viciously, still in the clearing.

Steve reached for his sword while his head was still dizzy and nausea was rising in his throat. He instinctively tried to hit the one hovering above him, barely registering his identity, while his eyes already tracked the movements around him, looking for more enemies, searching for shadows and monsters.

Bucky avoided the hit and signed frantically, movements blurred by the speed. “Connect,” he repeated again and again, pinching his fingers together, using Steve’s hand as a proxy to fill the sign, while his right was placed back on Steve’s face.

Steve, since he couldn’t find his sword at his side, reached for the hand and willed his mental senses awake. He wasn’t going to go out without a fight, he wasn’t going to let himself be taken without resistance, he wasn’t…

There were no barriers between them.

No magic to overcome as Steve’s only ability dove into the Unseelie, the link forming immediately. It felt like hot liquid poured over a cold surface, and his mind was covered in steam for a few moment at the initial contact, but the warm breeze of perception cleared it away, and what was left was familiar yet new.

Bucky’s mind radiated calm. No, that was not true… calm was the deep blue of the open ocean that reflected the sky on a summer afternoon. Bucky’s calm, however, was blue as a steel imbued with magic, blue as an iceberg besieged by the tides for centuries, blue as the petals of cornflower.

His calm wasn’t natural, wasn’t just a gift of good nature: it was learned. Controlled. Collected.

“It’s just a nightmare, _it’s just a nightmare,_ ” the voice kept repeating like a mantra.

Steve knew the difference between the shades and palettes of feelings.

The mental link between them made its effect, calmed Steve down too, forced his heartbeat to go slower, forced his thoughts to stop racing and keep a more reasonable tack instead.

Steve sighed as the knots in his muscles relaxed and his back settled on the ground again, grass caressing him while he still held Bucky’s wrist, and the terror of his dream finally started to fade.

He closed his eyes, only for them to pop open again. _The voice in his head?!_

 _“Bucky?”_ He send his own thought experimentally. It wasn’t easy, for him at least, to form actual words through mental connection: it took even more discipline and dedication than the link itself.

 _“Took you long enough to get your bearings,”_ the voice – honest to all gods – chuckled teasingly in his head

Steve hiccuped once. _“You know how to do this? Talking like this?”_

Obviously the answer was _yes,_ but he couldn’t just… he still asked, because his thoughts were fixed on this question anyway so it wasn’t hard to send it.

Bucky was rolling his eyes, Steve just knew, without looking up.

 _“I’m glad you calmed down,”_ Bucky said, and there was no doubt he meant it. Fey couldn’t lie, as a general rule, but it was amplified to hell and back with telepathy. There was no real way to send dishonest thoughts through a link like this.

Also, Steve could see it: the edge of his perception was tinged with ochre relief and pink joy, as well as cobweb-grey fear and a lighter grey of wariness. But Bucky kept those in check, his whole mental landscape was shaded in that steady, calming blue.

Bucky was in almost-perfect control over his own emotional state.

And as a proxy, he helped Steve to calm down as well, clearing his head of the remaining strands of the nightmare.

Steve was impressed. It took practice – lots and lots of practice – to achieve such feat.

His curiosity colored the picture with violet shades.

 _“Don’t,”_ Bucky asked quietly, even before Steve could properly draw up a question. Of course, it just prompted even more curiosity.

Bucky was clearly experienced with mental links, yet he was shocked when Steve accidentally initiated it last time, said it was very different… for being reciprocated and… and for what?

Steve tried very, very hard not to dig deeper to get answers for this question – could he, maybe, if he tried hard? break through Bucky’s self control? no, he wasn’t going to do that, obviously… –, unease settled in his stomach as his mind came up with the only possible explanation, and crimson anger and deep navy dread came crawling in its wake.

 _“No, Steve, don’t go there! Happy thoughts. Calm calm_ calm _. I am calm. You are okay. We’re okay,”_ Bucky intervened, repeating reassurances like mantras. They probably were; a way to focus his and Steve’s attention, and Steve didn’t fight against it.

It wasn’t even hard. Bucky had a nice voice – nothing like Steve expected, though. It wasn’t as deep as he imagined – okay, being in a mental link was definitely not a good time to think about this, dammit, because he was sure Bucky at least sensed most of his thoughts and feelings. He just hoped Bucky wasn’t good at deciphering them.

Because Steve sure as hell was floored by how pleasant it was to finally _hear_ him, how Bucky’s communication felt like velvet caressing on his skin, how sweet and charming it was, how it felt like _home_ , how hard Steve found to associate Bucky’s voice with winter and found like it belonged more to autumn instead, how…

Okay. Given Bucky’s shit-eating grin, he could clearly understand at least part of it, but Steve also sensed the turquoise shyness through the connection that belied his facial expression. Bucky might’ve acted as smug as he wished, but just as Steve wasn’t able to lie at the moment, neither was he.

Steve wasn’t above pointing this out, to which Bucky ducked his head and… hissed, alarmed.

 _“What?”_ Steve sat up, but still held Bucky’s wrist, holding the connection as well that let them speak.

 _“Shit!”_ The connection radiated with the word and it pinged back from the edges of their minds like shattered ice. It was amusing, hearing another fey _cursing_ , even if only in their heads. _“My mask! I can’t summon it.”_ He probably didn’t intend to share any of these thoughts but was too surprised to withhold them.

Steve shrugged. _“You can’t hide here,”_ he stated the obvious. Telepathy, supposedly, was a connection of trust and mutual agreement to be vulnerable to each other. Steve could totally imagine how it didn’t sit well with the magic that literally concealed someone’s face.

They were quiet for a while, Bucky focusing on his mantra of _calm calm calm_ and Steve let it carry him away. The cold-black dread of the nightmare faded, as well as his helplessness and shame at how he had reacted. Sure, it was not his best moment, but it could happen to anyone, right? He glanced at Bucky’s mind, wondering what he would find if he tried to unstitch the forced-blue calm, but dismissed the idea again. He wasn’t going to violate such a trust Bucky practiced here, just to help him.

His purple pride filled the picture.

Bucky’s orange surprise answered, but he schooled it back to the steel-strong blue again. _“Rest,”_ he ordered. _“You’ll need it anyway. I’ll keep watch.”_

Steve couldn’t help his nature, and even though his whole body felt like it suddenly weighed a ton just at the mention of rest, he instinctively argued. _“You fought just as much as I did, you need rest as well!”_

Bucky actually smiled, some tender curve of his lips, and the edges of his mind tinted with rose-colored fondness. _“Sleep or I’ll make you.”_ He leaned forward and kissed Steve’s forehead, and only slightly blushed afterwards, two pink patches on his pale cheeks, the exact right companions for his mental colors. (Steve, on the other hand, blushed like he was on fire.) _“Last time you needed a day to recover from this, right? Sleep, Steve, you’ll need your strength for the rematch.”_

Steve nodded, and let his mind’s grip loosen as he slipped into sleep, this time eased and peaceful, knowing that someone had his back and nothing could come anywhere close before Bucky would take care of the threat just as effectively as Steve could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't have time to post tomorrow due to a meeting, but on Tuesday I'll be back with the next chapter! :)


	5. Run boy run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up because information starts coming in this chapter, along with the action.

Nothing changed. Everything changed. Steve wasn’t sure anymore, had trouble differentiating between the then and now. It was hard to even imagine that Bucky was once ready to run away just at the mention of telepathy, or that he didn’t touch anything without permission.

The whole house had a different aura, now that Bucky was living there, really living there, not just inhabitating a space for a while. After they got back from the fight practice – a good two days passed with their absence, and Steve was grateful he had asked  a neighbor from a few miles down the road  to feed the animals in the meantime – Bucky promptly rearranged the living room furniture, placing the couch closer to the fireplace and making an even bigger empty space in the middle, where he refused to put even carpets. “For maneuverability,” he explained briefly.

It made sense the first evening, when Bucky pulled out two knives and started practicing with them. Steve spent the next three hours watching him, mesmerized by his movements, the graceful style that  seemed effortless, yet which Steve knew from experience must be the product of endless years of training and hard work.

As a result, of course, Steve felt compelled to show off as well, so he presented a traditional dual-wielding sword routine there the next day, to Bucky’s absolute amusement, if his smile was anything to go by.

Also, Bucky moved to one of the guest rooms to sleep. Not like it mattered much, since he still spent his daily catnaps on the couch, but he spent less time wandering around at nights. He rarely felt the need to wear his mask inside, either.

And they danced. Almost every day, routinely. Steve restrained himself and the first time’s incident didn’t happen again. Which was good because honestly, Steve was pretty fed up with sleeping for hours or even days afterwards at this point.

But he wasn’t ready for Bucky to kiss him. Properly.

Forehead kisses  weren't that surprising, after the kiss in the clearing , but that could mean anything, especially among fey. Could mean affection, sure, and Steve knew for a fact that Bucky cared for him, thanks to their mental connections, but it could mean gratitude, condescension, and so much else too. Steve  tried not to get too excited about the gesture , because he didn’t want to read  _ too much _ into the situation.

But when someone slipped his tongue in your mouth, there really wasn’t much room to misinterpret things.

It was the end of a shared knife practice – nothing like their swordfight in the clearing, it wasn’t a match but more like a dance, well choreographed and without any intention to win – and Bucky just held Steve’s hand at the end of a move when he should’ve let go. Bucky’s eyes softened and his gaze lingered on Steve’s lips, and then he simply leaned forward and kissed him.

Bucky tasted like snowflakes melted on the tongue, and like mulled wine with just the right seasoning, and like ozone-filled air after a lightning strike, and coincidentally that was how Steve felt in that moment, lightning-struck indeed, but he kissed back, instinctively, opened his lips and closed his eyes and accepted Bucky in. Bucky pulled him closer and their bodies fit together perfectly, just the right height and shape and Steve didn’t even realize that it should’ve been weird. It wasn’t: it felt like the natural progress, like they were born for this, like everything they did before was leading here.

Steve moaned, and when he opened his eyes, Bucky’s thunder-colored ones stared at him with such intensity it made him shiver, but Bucky smiled and his eyes were smiling too somehow.

Bucky pulled back just enough to sign. “It’s a good look on you,” he said, and Steve wasn’t sure what he meant, but it didn’t really matter, because it was a compliment and it made Steve’s insides heat up.

They didn’t sign much else for a good while, busy with another kind of wordless communication, until Steve’s lips went numb from the steady Winter-cold touch of Bucky’s mouth and Bucky’s lips seemed burned by passionate Summer fire.

***

When the third letter arrived at the mail, Steve wasn't surprised anymore. It was almost two weeks since his nightmares started and five days after the fight practice and two days after Steve and Bucky’s first kiss. They weren’t… really in a hurry to move on from that stage, at least Bucky didn’t initiate anything more, and Steve's hands barely wandered to Bucky's ass once or twice. He wasn't sure anything else would've been welcomed if rushed, so he waited.

But, yeah, Steve should focus on things other than Bucky's ass, so he directed his attention back to the letter. His eyes ran through the message, longer this time.

_ "I don't know what you're up to with that boy, but I'm sure it's nothing good. For you, at least. I know I couldn't stop you even if I knew anything precisely, so I won't try. But if you need a place to lay low or seek help, you know where I am. Take care, Captain." _

Steve's heart drummed hard in his chest.

This message, he had to show Bucky. The vague warning seemed almost innocent, and Steve wouldn't have minded it much from anyone else, but Natasha was different, Nat lived off knowledge, and she wouldn't waste a warning without good reason.

And it affected Bucky as well, not like the previous letters. So Steve beckoned Bucky over and of course he came, willingly, and slipped to Steve’s arm without difficulty, and Steve embraced him  instinctively  despite the seriousness of the situation. Bucky has been like a damned cat these last few days with his snuggling, but he always kept his hands to himself and never fumbled - not like Steve would have minded any grappling.

_ ‘What?’ _ Bucky asked with only the raise of an eyebrow, and Steve held up the note. Bucky’s brows  furrowed, but he took the note and read it. He didn't react until the very end, when he abruptly looked up at Steve.

“Captain?!” he repeated, and…

Steve’s mouth fell open.

It wasn’t sign language, or telepathic voice.

Bucky actually talked.

He said that out loud!

Bucky’s eyes widened. “SHIT!” he shouted, and stumbled back, away from Steve,  breathing heavily . He buried his face in his hand, the mask reappearing in a heartbeat. Steve had no idea what to do with this new information.

Bucky… could… talk.

But then  _ why _ didn’t he talk until this point? And  _ why _ was he freaking out? 

What the  _ hell  _ was going on?

“Bucky?” he asked, tentatively, lost for words, and didn’t step closer.

Bucky looked up, and his eyes were not simply terrified, they looked frantic and in pain and… were those tears? He took another step back, and wrapped an arm around his chest, shoulders hunched, and seemingly tried to regain his balance to be able to sign his next words.

“You have to go. You have to run. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Get out of here!”

Steve blinked a few times.

“I think I don’t understand.” He was fairly positive that his sign language knowledge failed him here, because sure Bucky couldn’t mean  _ that _ , right?! Why would he run? “What’s going on, Bucky? I thought… I thought you were mute.” He winced at his own words. Okay, they sounded really insensitive, but sue him. This situation was quite unique to begin with.

Bucky looked around, trying to locate some pen and paper, but then thought better. He looked quite miserable though, when the mask disappeared and revealed his face.

“I can talk,” he stated, dry as a desert. His voice was almost identical to his mental one, which made Steve’s mind tingle a little bit with its implications. “But now they know I’m here and you _ have to go! _ ” Bucky urged, pointing to the door. “I’m really sorry, I should’ve shut my-- but I got careless. I didn’t want to, I swear!” And there was pleading in Bucky’s tone, like he really expected Steve to blame him for whatever this was, and it broke Steve’s heart a little all over again, but he couldn’t focus on that right now as he tried to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Okay, slow down,” Steve held his hand up, “you enchanted a fucking  _ muzzle _ on  _ yourself _ to prevent yourself from accidentally speaking and now you’re  _ apologizing _ because you were comfortable enough to not wear that fucking thing?” Steve shook his head, not sure if his bewilderment was justified in this case or not. He had been away from the courts too long, apparently, because he was angered and disturbed by the turn of these events, but honestly… it wasn’t even the craziest thing  he'd ever heard . Not by far.

Bucky just waved his words away, and slipped his mask back in place, back to hiding. “Go,” he signed. “Please, Steve, I don’t want you to get… hurt.” He hesitated a second before the last word, but finished the sentence anyway, and Steve had a feeling he wasn’t gonna use that one originally.

“First off,” Steve switched to ASL as well, “this is my home and I won’t run away at the first  sign of trouble . You know very well that I’m capable of defending myself.” He was so much slower at signing than Bucky, plus he didn’t know proper swearing, which was frustrating, so he switched back to speaking out loud again. “Secondly, what the hell do you mean they know because you’ve spoken? The only one who tracks fey-speak is the Queen of Air and Darkness, and I doubt she… cares eno--” His words faltered as realization dawned upon him. The other didn’t answer, just slouched down his head.

“Bucky,” Steve said, very carefully and quietly. “Please say that you’re  _ not _ being chased by the Queen of the Winter Court.”

Bucky shook his head, raised his hand to sign, then went to the table instead for writing. He scribbled as fast as he could, and it looked kind of chicken scratch again. “No, she’s not, but her tracking spell is the one that allows them to find me. SO YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE, STEVE!”

The piece of paper shook in Steve’s hand. “I’m not leaving you behind.” He remembered, abruptly, how this all started.

With his former title. The only Captain among fey is the High Captain of the Summer Court, the personal protector of the Summer King, and now Bucky knew he had been the bearer of that title once.

“If I was trusted to protect my King, then I’m pretty sure you can trust me to protect you as well,” Steve said.

Bucky didn’t seem more at ease at these words though, quite the opposite.

“I don’t need  _ protection! _ ” his movements were more like angry jabs, and Steve was pretty sure he’d hiss at the end if he were using his voice.

“Bucky, if half of what they say about the Queen’s ability is true, then whoever you’re running from already knows I’m involved, so I fucking won’t leave the life I’ve built here behind just because you think they might come to take you.”

Before Bucky could answer, though, a loud crack of thunder sounded from outside, followed by the panicking of the animals: terrified neighs and horrendous bleats mixed with curious clucking. Well, Steve always suspected his chickens were at least a little bit insane. Not like he had time to think about such things, because Bucky had already drawn weapons – one knife for each hand.

Not the sword, though. Steve considered it as a good sign, as he moved to grab his own blades, personally not shying away from his longsword. Whoever and whatever had decided that wreaking havoc in his premise was acceptable should learn their lesson properly, once and for all.

Fairyfolk sensed weakness like sharks smelled blood, and they reacted just as aggressively too.

Bucky was by the door while Steve armed himself, and looked back for a brief second, like he wanted to say something more. “Run away,” he signed after the hesitation, then rushed out.

Steve followed him, of course.

***

First he had to make sure the animals weren’t in danger, so instead of keeping a close eye on Bucky, who he knew for a fact could take care of himself, he turned left to the barn.

A doglike creature jumped in front of him, only it had six legs and no face, as half of the latter was torn off and only rags of meat clung to the bare bones. Steve supposed having only one eye meant terrible depth perception, and he dodged the sharp teeth with ease, hitting the top of its head with the hilt of his sword with full force.

Bone cracked and the dog fell down with a muffled whine as Steve sprinted away from it.

He  had to evade two more dog-creatures before he reached the barn to release the animals . He considered himself lucky that he kept their numbers low after Peggy’s death, so only the two horses, two goats and a handful of chickens were left by this point. It was relatively easy to usher them out of the barn and shepherd them through the back gate, even while dealing with some more monster-looking dogs. (The real problem were those two asshole chickens who wanted to investigate the situation and ran  _ toward _ the danger instead of  _ away _ from it, and Steve suddenly felt way more sympathetic toward Moana and her struggles with her own stupid chicken. Now he understood. Disney nailed it perfectly.)

Steve had a pretty solid grasp on what the attackers were, even though he hadn’t had to deal with them in a combat situation before.

He had no idea, however, what did Bucky do to deserve the Hounds of the Hunt on his heels, especially combined with this hijacked-Queen-magic information. The Hunt usually had their own method of finding people, they didn’t rely on the Winter Court’s Queen to do the job for them.

It made zero sense.

Sadly, being under attack wasn’t the right time to figure out disjointed pieces of information and puzzle out the context of it all.  _ Later _ , Steve promised himself,  _ later I’ll ask Bucky all of these questions _ . But first, they needed to take down the attackers, because wherever hounds appeared, hunters would soon follow.

By the time he got back to the front, Bucky was heavily engaged in defending himself.

Steve jumped through three rose bushes at once to knock down a creature with a humanoid form, quite a few tentacles growing from its waist, and at least seven set of eyes on three heads. He didn’t have the opportunity to ask what the hell  it called itself , though, as he stabbed through the chest where he supposed the heart should’ve been, and decapitated it for good measure.

The corpse turned to ashes and Steve was already pirouetting toward the next enemy, noticing Bucky was fencing with four of them simultaneously and still not drawing his sword.

Which was stupid. And noble. But still insane.

Technically, the Wild Hunt didn’t belong to any court, they operated under the rule of their own Leader. But said King had a tight bond with the Winter Queen and therefore everyone considered the Hunt as part of the Winter Court too.

The fact that he wasn’t really willing to kill fellow courtmembers spoke volumes about Bucky’s loyalty, and Steve appreciated that, even in the heat of the clash.

_ Especially _ in the heat of the clash.

The fact was, Steve loved fighting. Loved the rush of blood in his veins, the challenge of overpowering the enemy, the pride of triumph. Steve most of the time even loved his magicless status, especially when it meant some kind of immunity too, but mostly because it was damn satisfying to defeat enemies who had more broad variety of tools to use and yet proved themselves a lesser combatant than him. He wasn’t one to kill just for the thrill of it, and while he never hesitated to do what he deemed necessary, he respected the hell out of people who did the same. Which meant he respected everyone here on this battlefield. They all did their job, and they all did it well.

Steve took another hunter by surprise and then engaged in duel with the next who was already prepared for him by then. The encounter was short-lived; and ended with Steve eviscerating the poor fella with not enough limbs but more than enough guts.

Ashes remained in the wake of Steve’s path while Bucky’s victims were only unconscious. No wonder the huntsmen focused their effort on Bucky, who was their primary target anyway.

Steve remembered wishing to see Bucky in action, that first time when Bucky rushed to the supposed-to-be rescue in the garden. He got his wish granted during practice, but practice was different from reality, it always had been and always would be – especially  since he'd been pretty preoccupied with his own side of the fight, then . But this time, this time he witnessed the full package: Bucky looked like a wrathful god, almost glowing, movements blurred by speed, his face and body covered in black fabrics that only highlighted his pale skin, and he struck and hit and slashed like it was nothing, his whole body bending and turning and giving in to the mesmerizing harmony of violent movements. He was absolutely magnificent and gorgeous, even better than Steve imagined.

Still, even he could use some help, and Steve was more than happy to provide.

His next opponent was a female who probably could’ve had a successful modelling career among mortals based on her face and posture, especially if she’d conceal the fact that her jaws were capable of splitting open to four different directions like a carnivorous plant’s trap and her tongue was at least three feet long. And spiky.

Steve lost a dagger thanks to her, and the fact that she only fell apart instead of turning to dust after she was split half at hips height wasn’t promising to the future. Steve prepared to slash some more holes to her later would she join the battle again later.

One creature with only three limbs in total but all three of them expanding like they were made of rubber grabbed a sapling and tore it out of the ground. Steve had to do a backflip to avoid the hit while fencing off another Huntsman at the same time, ruining a flowerbed with his not-so-graceful landing, and he couldn’t suppress a swear. It wasn’t enough that his precious garden would be littered with Huntspeoples’ bodies, blood and ash, which is hard enough to get rid of: now they were ruining it  _ purposefully! _ He threw a knife at the offender, satisfied by the smack of the blade  sinking into soft flesh.

Steve stopped counting after the sixteenth fey. It was just pointless to keep their numbers in mind when another appeared with each bolt of lightning that struck in and around the garden.

Steve heard the rumor that they traveled with the wings of storms, and wasn’t pleased to realize they meant it literally. Fuck, they  _ made a mess. _ He wasn’t sure if the plants will  _ ever _ recover from such shock. Which was  _ rude. _ On top of that, honestly, Steve was pissed off to begin with that they dared to hunt Bucky and attack them, without any warning whatsoever beforehand.

Okay, maybe they would’ve had time to try get away if they hadn’t been busy arguing over Steve’s level of involvement, but  _ still. _ They were just living their life away from the courts and its politics, no need to rush at them with such enthusiasm and such force and numbers.

Well, at least they didn’t underestimate Bucky.  This was a huge force to send for just one fey.  Steve wasn’t sure Bucky would’ve been able to fend them off alone, no matter how spectacularly he stood his ground against them while still sticking with his no-kill personal policy.

Fortunately Steve didn’t have such restrictions himself, especially not after one of them managed to cut him  _ with a tentacle. _ Honestly, who expects a tentacle to be sharp like hardened steel. It was against the nature of tentacles. It was cheating.

Steve had no remorse when he slayed the creature.

In the end, they stood back to back, unconscious bodies littering the ground at Bucky’s feet and ash filling the air around Steve.

The garden around them was a wreck. In at least fifty foot radius, most of the vegetation was trampled at best, or gone entirely.  Farther away, his little grove of peach trees was on fire for some reason . As Steve sized up the damage, he wanted to just lay down and cry. He had tended this garden for decades, and had a good relationship with most of the place. He loved his flowers, his orchard, his everything. He put care and effort into it, and the plants here always repaid his efforts, and now it was  _ simply gone _ and even without proper magical senses he felt the void where the life once was. _. _

It’s not like he wasn’t grateful that both he and Bucky got out of the battle relatively unscathed, or not like he didn’t know there were victims in every fight. But he did feel the urge to finish off every unconscious member of the Hunt in rage because they ruined something that was once peaceful, beautiful, and dear to Steve’s heart.

More so, it was dear to Peggy and was dedicated to her memory and it felt just as horrendous as if they were  desecrating  her grave.

Even fey never bothered graves.

Steve’s hands trembled as the shock of the loss settled in and he restrained himself from any movements,  not sure what to do next .

When Bucky tentatively touched his shoulder, he instinctively hit his hand away, and Bucky fell back into a fighting stance instantly, measuring him carefully, his eyes calm and neutral. After three painfully slow seconds, Bucky lowered his knives sheathed them: showing Steve his empty palms, and Steve relaxed too.

“Steve, we have to go. You have to go,” he signed slowly. He looked around as well, and Steve  _ saw _ that he bit his lip under the mask’s fabric. “I’m so sorry,” he signed, then again and again, until he stopped after the seventh. “I wish I could--” Bucky stopped, midway, lost of words, and shrugged helplessly. “But more will come soon. Move. Keep moving until they lose you.”

Steve wanted to ask many things. Wanted answers to his questions, but… Bucky was right.

He straightened himself, and allowed one single tear to drop from his eye. He smeared it on his fingertip, and gently rubbed it to the ground where he stood. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the earth. “I’ll come back if I can and help your recovery to my best ability.”

He walked out without looking around, dropped his eyes and only watched the ground where he stepped until he was out through the back gate. Bucky followed him, but fell behind a good three steps. Steve wasn’t sure it was for his own or for Steve’s sake. Instead of asking, he stopped until the other caught up, grabbed Bucky’s hand, and sped up to a run as soon as he was out of the garden.

Even though he knew damn well they’d need way more than that to outrun the Wild Hunt when it was on their tail. Thunder rumbled threateningly, not far away enough.

Bucky squeezed his hand and when Steve looked at him, he tapped on his temple.  _ Mental link. _ Steve shook his head, not slowing down. The landscape blurred around them as they sprinted through it.

He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to form a telepathic connection right now, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be wise even if he had the ability.

“What’s your strategy?” he asked Bucky.

“City,” Bucky signed, his movements limited by the need to go as fast as possible, and also probably because he didn’t let Steve’s hand go.

“We can’t lead them to mortals,” Steve protested. He knew the town nearby, and it wouldn’t stand a chance against the Hunt.

Bucky had to let go Steve’s hand. “Big one. Lots of metal. Skycrapers. Electronics. The biggest city we can find near enough,” he explained, not bothering with much coherence.

Steve, for the first time, wished he had a car. Not like it would’ve been faster than them running, but a car wouldn’t tire like them, and if Bucky was right and metal-electricity threw the Hunters off the scent, well… maybe it would’ve worth the iron-sickness. Not like it mattered, since it wasn’t an option.

Steve orientated himself, grabbed Bucky’s hand again, and sped up even more, almost dragging Bucky behind.

Huh. Good to know he was this faster. Might come handy sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaay. I know I'm two days late with this update. But! You know what this means? Double-chapter updates on the weekend, if everything goes according to plan! ;) Stay tuned and leave me a comment in the meantime if you liked the fic so far! :)


	6. The city's lights around us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more trouble, because Steve and Bucky can't catch a break.

 

They reached the city. Steve wasn’t sure if the Hunt was slower than their fame gave them credit for, or if they were faster than he expected, or if some other circumstance helped them out, but it wasn’t important.

The point was, they finally could talk. Steve led Bucky – he supposed he had been living longer among humans, though he couldn’t be sure, and he had been in this particular city before, though that was long ago. Like, decades long ago. Steve barely recognized the place.

In his memory, every city blurred together into an experience of misery and discomfort. He was a sidhe, therefore a natural spirit, therefore the artificial environment full of iron and concrete was always painful and inconvenient. It was worse in the memories than in reality, though. As Steve walked the streets, the air still tasted sour and disgusting, but it didn’t burn his throat and the smells didn’t make him want to throw up. The noises were annoying, but they didn’t actively hurt his ears. No one looked at them twice and no one batted an eyelash at Steve’s sword on his back, or their torn clothes, so he supposed the Veil hid them alright, making their appearance ordinary, or at least not too outstanding to mortals.

Steve tried to hurry up, but Bucky held him back. “If you’re on the run, don’t run,” he signed, and so they walked at an almost pleasant pace.

Steve only let go of Bucky’s hand when he needed his own for signing. He supposed it was their best way of communication in the current situation – he wasn’t fond of the idea of discussing the Wild Hunt out loud, even if it was only one-sided. Not like he could be tracked via speaking like Bucky, but still. The Hunt was weird and ancient, even by fey standards.

“So now what?” he asked.

“We keep moving,” Bucky answered. “It takes a few days or weeks until it’s relatively safe to stop.”

“They hurt you before we met, too?”

Bucky didn’t meet his eyes when he nodded.

“I think you should kill them when they try to do so.”

Bucky shrugged, which Steve interpreted as _‘You’re probably right but I can’t stand the idea of killing my own people.’_ Probably now wasn't the right time to push it, but Steve wanted to force it and stress it because Bucky was going to end up getting himself killed if he kept this noble behavior up.

Steve was all happy to support nobleness, but not at all costs, and losing Bucky seemed like a terrible possibility, like something he didn’t want to even imagine.

But Bucky clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Steve could give him a little time to get his bearings after the events.

He steered his mind in another direction. He replayed the last day’s events in his head, grabbing all the new pieces of information and tossing them around in his mind, trying to figure out the connections between them and trying to understand the big picture that these pieces were forming.

So what did he know at this point? Bucky was a noble Winter sidhe, Bucky had been abandoned by his court – no, he just assumed that, he knew nothing about his relationship with the court –, Bucky had a silver arm, Bucky was possibly among the five best fighters of both Courts, Bucky was tracked by his Queen’s magic and pursued by the Wild Hunt, Bucky was seriously mistreated and maybe tortured in his past, Bucky was...

Bucky was a mystery. Bucky gave Steve time to think everything through and didn’t try to interrupt his mental processing.

Bucky was well-trained and Bucky was shy and Bucky was sweet and Bucky was everything Steve could think about since he found him, Bucky was in sync with Steve like no one else were before and Bucky was in danger.

“Why does the Queen track you?” Steve asked after a while when they passed a huge and ugly building of a bank, getting closer to the heart of the city.

Bucky shrugged again. “She tracks everyone.” His signs conveyed nonchalance that Steve knew by now that wasn’t natural, but his self-discipline showing.

“They say she can, if she wishes, hear every word spoken by fey of the Winter Court.” Steve waited a heartbeat, but no denial nor confirmation came. “She can track back every word, but I highly doubt a royal like Her Majesty would want to spend her days spying on her entire court.” Bucky tensed up and gave a dark glare, so Steve continued. “Which consequently means that for tracking you to this extent, she has to use her ability consciously.” Bucky looked away, and Steve figured his logic was correct then. “Which raises the logical question: what did you do that earned the wrath of the Queen of Air and Darkness, Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, facing forward and stance rigid, then started moving again. Steve followed, too stubborn to do anything else. They didn’t look at each other until they reached the first seemingly abandoned alley and Bucky tossed Steve in that direction, away from the few pedestrians of the high street.

Bucky pulled out pen and paper. “It’s not her wrath,” he wrote. “She’s probably quite disappointed in me, but I assume she’s more worried than anything else.” He looked up when he handed the paper over to Steve, and there were pleading honesty in his eyes, like he was begging wordlessly for Steve to believe him, and Steve couldn’t not.

“Why would she be worried about–?” he started, but stopped abruptly.

Silver arm.

There were rumors of a metal-armed fey, rumors that spoke about a glorious fighter and smooth charmer.

They said he was the favorite of the Winter Queen until he got banished.

Even Steve had heard about him, though he really tried to avoid court gossip since he moved to the human world.

“You are the banished Winter Soldier,” Steve barely breathed out his realization.

Bucky lifted up his chin with that same defiant gesture he showed on their first day and many days since, and Steve’s heart ached to see it again. Did Bucky really think he’d need his defense mechanisms again when faced only with Steve?

Bucky only nodded, confirming the suspicion, and he stood straight and proud.

Steve’s head swam with the new information. Bucky was a fucking _Prince._ Well, before banishment, at least. The Winter Soldiers were the Queen’s adopted children – since she herself didn’t have her own, she collected promising young fey and took them into her palace and raised them as future candidates for the throne. Rumors said, the Soldiers were often pitted against each other in competitions, and though they were highly respected, not all of them survived the upbringing because of the rivalry between them.

Steve didn’t know why one of them was banished. He wasn’t interested at the time, because that happened when Peggy was in the last stage of Alzheimer’s disease and he was too preoccupied with the fragility of her mind and taking care of her to pay attention to petty court drama.

“So,” Steve finally said, “should I call you Your Highness or what?”

Bucky punched his shoulder lightly and the tension left him so fast it seemed he was going to collapse on the ground. Then he tensed up again in an instant, like his moods were swinging violently now that he wasn’t composing himself tight enough.

“So you know who I am?” he signed.

“I’ve known you for weeks, of course I know who you are,” Steve replied instantly.

“No, I mean–”

“I know what you meant,” Steve cut in, choosing to be impolite this time. “That doesn’t change the person who I got to know during his stay in my home.”

Bucky seemingly had no idea how to answer that, taken aback by the fierce force of Steve’s words.

“Aren’t you… mad?” Bucky asked after some hesitation.

“Of course I am!” Steve practically yelled, and then hushed his voice. “I’m always mad at people who try to kill me in my home and ruin my garden. I take it kind of personally. But I’m not mad at you - you were not among those people. I ain’t going to blame the victim.”

Before he could properly finish his little speech, Bucky’s mask disappeared and he kissed Steve, hard and unapologetic, pouring his relief, gratitude, confusion, shame and love into his lips instead of his ears, and Steve understood it better than words anyway.

He knew the burden of being an outcast, no matter the circumstances leading there – did those even matter in the essence of the loneliness? – he understood the lack of acceptance and the craving for it, the longing for the loved ones, he…

“Maybe I understand you a bit better now,” he whispered against Bucky’s lips, and didn’t let him end the kiss, not yet. He needed more, like this, one hand in Bucky’s hair, playing with it, the other supporting his back, holding him close where their bodies were pressed together, wet clothes and…

Hold on… Wet?

Steve pulled away.

“You’re injured.”

Their hips were still touching, but Bucky leaned back enough for signing to be possible and visible. “Just scratches, nothing major. Thanks to you.”

Steve still frowned. “You stood your own just fine. Let me see it.”

“It’s not the right time and place,” Bucky tried.

“I don’t care,” Steve growled, and his hands slipped down to Bucky’s waist, pulling him closer while they still leaned backward to be able to communicate.

“You’re injured too. I saw.”

Steve stared at Bucky, wondering how the hell he kept track of Steve’s movements during that chaotic battle or if he was just lucky to look at his direction the right moment and witness the cuts and bruises he got, and which he had kind of forgotten about until this point. Now that he was reminded, he started to ache all over again. He didn’t get seriously hurt, though, he was sure of it – he knew his body and the signals it gave, and right now the situation wasn’t distressing, just uncomfortable.

“Okay, maybe it’s really not the right place,” he mumbled, and Bucky threw back his head and laughed, void of sound, just shaking with the ridiculousness of the whole situation, and Steve had to smile too, anxiety bleeding out of him.

A good part of his home was destroyed. Bucky was some sort of wanted fugitive of the Winter Court. They were injured, though hopefully indeed not seriously. They had nowhere to go and no plan. They were on the run from the Wild Hunt.

But they were still together.

And suddenly the situation didn’t seem that bad after all.

Bucky hugged Steve close and Steve embraced him tightly and rocked them back and forth while he whispered pointless reassurances into the surrounding night, and for a few moments he refused to be anything else but content.

***

Of course reality was eager to catch up with them, so after a few minutes Steve had to let go, and Bucky didn’t object.

“Have any idea where to go now?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know this city.”

Steve sighed. He didn’t know the city either, but knew someone who did, who lived here and traded information like candy. He wasn’t sure they could offer anything in return for her help, though.

“Let’s move, then,” Steve suggested, and they started to walk again.

Bucky elbowed Steve. “Captain?” he wrote. Steve wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. This is how this mess started in the first place.

“Former High Captain of the Summer Court, at your service,” he saluted lazily.

“That explains why were you so damned good when we fought,” Bucky continued, and Steve smiled.

“My thoughts exactly.” He gestured toward Bucky. “About your… status, I guess.”

“I have a past, not a status,” Bucky corrected, and Steve could imagine how soft and insecure his voice could’ve been if this was a conversation with words spoken out loud instead of writing and signing. Steve thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

“Well said.”

The sun started to come up, which meant more people on the streets, so they tried to move from alley to alley whenever possible, avoiding busy streets and anything with lots of cars and activity. Being among the shadows and where they could keep track of everything felt safer at the moment, they didn’t need to discuss it. They didn’t really talk much – Steve was full of questions and he supposed Bucky was too, but the circumstances were not right for deep and meaningful conversations, so they just kept their thoughts for themselves for now.

That, until Bucky suddenly stumbled like he had been hit, and turned his panicked eyes toward Steve, signing “Run” once again.

Steve stepped in front of him.

He was thrown backwards by an invisible force immediately, his back hitting the fire escape hard, pushing all air out of his lungs.

A sound of distress came from Bucky’s direction, not really formed but recognizably his, and then the clang of blades clashed together.

Steve landed on his feet lightly, weapon already at hand, and didn’t hesitate for a second to storm the figure fencing with Bucky, only it to turn into… two figures.

Steve blinked and didn’t stop, engaging the closer one. He noticed that Bucky still had only knives in hand, but couldn’t pay more attention afterwards, because his own opponent was _good._ Although he looked like he was made of shadow and dust, a male humanoid form of dark vapor, yet every inch of his body was as hard as steel – Steve’s sword clattered back from his upper arm when he thought he successfully landed a hit. He was fast – faster than Steve at the moment, actually, which was baffling, and challenged Steve’s abilities to an extent he didn’t expect to experience here.

Steve slashed, dodged, attacked, evaded.

The fighting style was familiar, from previous studies as well as recent practices: the moves themselves were the same as the ones in Bucky’s routines, except the performance lacked most of Bucky’s elegance. The attacker was fast, but more bullheaded, and his style was way more direct than Bucky’s. He was also build broader, and he certainly expected to be stronger than most of his opponents.

Bucky seemed better off, when Steve glanced at his direction: he looked evenly matched with his opponent, and Steve figured he’d draw his sword if the situation became too dire. “Traitor!” the other shadow-figure said again and again, and if it weren’t a combat situation, Steve probably would’ve been flinching each time. He was too preoccupied to do that now, though.

Steve turned his attention back just the last moment to twitch his hand away from a slash, and he was thrown back again, this time hitting his side on the fire escape.

His opponent relied too much on magic, he realized.

Which might’ve  been a strength against any other fey , but Steve’s magicless status  that hindered Steve elsewhere gave him an edge here .  He didn't take direct damage from malevolent spells, because most attacks relied on the target having their own active magic for the spell to take hold. The only spells that were actually effective against Steve were the ones affecting on purely a physical level - like the tossing around in this case,  which. Was not a good strategy against a skilled enemy like Steve. It just gave him an opportunity to gather his bearings by giving him space.

He outright laughed at the face of the ghostlike creature’s frustration when yet another barked out spell turned out to be ineffective.

His opponent was also easy to piss off.

Steve fought and observed, figuring out the weaknesses. The lack of elegance. The cracks in the defense when he tried to use magic. The determination, similar to Bucky’s, that made him value his own safety less than the opportunity for an attack.

Steve smiled more and more as he fenced off the other, gaining more and more advantages with each of the creature’s frustrated strikes.

“Who the hell are you?” the shadow snarled, and Steve’s smirk was outright challenging.

“You’d love to know, I’m sure,” he teased and stepped away from a direct assault, hitting the middle of the other’s back as he charged next to him, though sadly he was still unable to cause any injury.

Basically any point of the shadow’s body was unaffected by slashes. Steve had no magic to try his hand in, but he supposed with enough force and determination, some good thrusts could puncture through any defense after a while.

So he started to work on that.

“Traitor!” Bucky’s opponent kept repeating, like a chanting, and after a while it got even into Steve’s nerves as well, so he figured how terrible it must’ve been for Bucky to listen to. No wonder he made a mistake – it caught Steve’s attention when Bucky was cornered, his back pressed against the wall.

And finally he draw that fucking sword of his that probably could kill with a scratch.

Which evened out his fight enough, at least Steve figured.

It still didn’t solve _Steve’s_ problem, namely that no matter how many times he could’ve finished his match, the ghostlike skin seemed impenetrable, at least to his sword.

Which meant he should get another one. Steve waited and staged the scene, carefully shepherding his opponent to the right direction while waiting for the opportunity.

When Bucky was stepping forward to land a hit and his opponent shied away to avoid it, Steve kicked his own enemy with full force, and the creature fell backward.

Right into Bucky’s thrust.

The ghostlike man’s scream felt like scratches on skin and mind as well, and for a moment all three of them froze in their places, and witnessed as the dark grey fumes evaporated from the skin and an ordinary sidhe remained in the place of the once ghost-like figure. Blood dripped from his mouth.

The other one let out a cry of pain as well – Steve shuddered, it wasn’t a voice of physical hurt –, and pointed at Bucky accusingly. “ _Traitor_!” he shouted, and choked on the words for a second. “You’ll pay for this, Queenslayer!”

 _What? Queenslayer?!_ Steve’s brain halted.

The uninjured opponent turned on his heel and fled.

Bucky didn’t move, just stood and held up the weight of the fey with his blade that stabbed through and through, and he seemed shocked.

“I hope… you’re… satisfied now,” the dying fey mumbled, and his ugly smile wasn’t promising anything good. Steve started to regret what he did – not like anyone could accuse him or Bucky of anything, right? It was totally self-defense. It was… He stepped closer and closer, until he was within reaching distance of Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes were terrified as he slowly lowered his weapon, laying the fey down with it as gently as it was possible in the given situation. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn’t – Steve wasn’t sure if it was because of the tracking, or because he was used to withholding his words, or because he didn’t know what to say.

“One more... thing to blame on you… brother,” the fey said.

His breath stopped.

Steve froze.

Oh hell. _Oh no._

He made Bucky kill his own brother? He slowly, cautiously raised his gaze to Bucky, but Bucky didn’t look back at him at all. He stared at the dead fey and he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but one more is coming tonight and two more tomorrow ;)


	7. The Leader of the Outcasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky get an ally and they even have time for some philosophical conversations - aka bonding at the worst moments too.

Steve wasn’t sure how much time passed - was it a minute? a day? - as they sat silently in the alley with the dead body of a fey and the tears on Bucky’s face and the void in Steve’s heart as he tried to come to terms with the possible weight of his action.

They were only defending themselves, sure.

That wasn’t an excuse for killing your own flesh and blood, and if Steve made Bucky do that, then it was Steve’s fault. Mostly. And yet Bucky would be the one suffering the consequences.

No one bothered them for a while, and Steve only scrambled to his feet when heard footsteps from the entry of the street. He lifted his sword again and positioned himself in a defensive stance, ready to protect Bucky, if the Hunt or the Winter Fey found them again. Though… he doubted the latter. Bucky’s opponent’s escape suggested he was just as shocked by the events’ turn as Bucky had been.

Nevertheless, Steve was up to fight till his dying breath if necessary.

The newcomer apparently wasn’t on the same page. “Hold your horses, friend, I’m not here to fight,” a semi-familiar voice said, and Steve squinted harder to see the owner.

The figure in an expensive-looking, carefully fitted suit stepped out of the shadow of the building, and mildly smiled at Steve. “Nice to meet you again.”

Steve let down his sword and stared. “Coulson?” His voice was a bit uncertain.

“In the flesh, indeed.” The newcomer casually holstered the gun that was in his hand when he had entered the alley.

Steve's lips thinned as he tried to figure out whether he could trust the newcomer or not. “Prove it.” Maybe he was paranoid. But better safe than sorry.

Coulson didn't seem impressed, though he wasn't surprised either. It suited his manners, Steve thought.

“My name's Coulson among humans, and as a junior agent Director Carter once smacked me on the head for eating her favorite snacks in front of her while she couldn't.”

Steve breathed marginally easier and nodded his acceptance. That was Peggy alright - she had quite a motherly relationship with some junior agents, including Coulson, especially as she grew older.

“Now, Widow sent me to escort you two into the shelter of her home, so if you’d be kind enough to follow me, that would be wonderful.”

“Give… us a second,” Steve turned his back to Coulson.

Bucky at least looked up to the sound of talking, but his eyes were tired and painful to watch: black frame circled his grey-blue iris and a deep shadow clouded even the white of it. The mask somehow seemed to cover his face even more than usual. Steve slowly, carefully laid a hand on Bucky’s back, like he was afraid to scare an animal away. Bucky didn’t push his hand away, just shuddered at the touch.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Steve murmured as he kneeled down beside him, voice low and calm. “We should go. Move a little more, like we agreed. Can you do that for me?” He was quiet, hoping only Bucky would hear the words. But he still avoided  calling him by name, in case Coulson overheard He wasn’t sure if it was okay for a human to know that. Bucky spared a glance at Coulson, then looked back at Steve, and Steve had a hard time reading his expression under all the hurt, but he recognized annoyance.

“I’m not a child,” Bucky signed, “I’m fine.”

Steve wondered if fey were able to lie in sign language or not, because Bucky was clearly not fine, far from it. Of course, a word like ‘fine’ could mean any standard and there were probably some definitions that applied even in fucked up situations like this; also if Bucky was convinced then no one could accuse him of lying.

Still.

Steve offered a hand as Bucky got up to his feet, and Bucky pointedly ignored the gesture. “What does Phil want?” Bucky asked once he stood, carefully signing out each letter of the name.

Steve did his best to school his expression into neutrality while he felt like he had been slapped on the face. What the—? “You know him?”

Instead of answering, Bucky waved to Coulson and Coulson returned the gesture, his smile small and polite and unwavering. Unease settled in Steve’s stomach as more and more questions remained unanswered.

Answering those questions was going to require a very long and serious conversation with Bucky.

He wasn’t sure he was ready for that, not only because he might not like the answers he’d get, but because he’d have to answer things too, and he didn’t know if he was ready to discuss some of those either. But given the circumstances, he was not sure he would have much of a say.

Bucky didn’t look back to the dead fey, and if the blood on his blade weighed him down, he didn’t show it. He stepped in front of Coulson and shook his hand and nodded to show he was ready.

“Follow my footsteps, gentlemen, Widow is eagerly waiting for you,” Coulson said and went ahead.

Bucky followed him without questions.

Steve had to do the same.

Coulson was silent as a cat and lead them through alleyways and sometimes even indoor corridors they surely wouldn’t have found without him. Somewhere along the way, Steve reached for Bucky’s hand, and Bucky didn’t object. He intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand so hard Steve felt like blood stopped circulating there at all.

And he was glad about it. It must mean that Bucky still counted on him, right?

Steve knew where they were heading, and a sideway glance at Bucky told him Bucky was familiar with the directions too. The hallway they ended up in was comfy and warm, decorated with a snowy mountain painting on the right side and a sunny flowerfield on the left. The colors of the furniture were neutral, not associated with neither Summer nor Winter, and the soft carpet rustled gently with each step of the guests, while remaining soundless under the feet of Coulson.

“She’ll be ready in a second.” With those words, Coulson practically disappeared, and if Steve blinked, he surely would’ve missed the way he slipped through a side door.

As soon as they were alone, Bucky signed, “He knows sign language, be careful.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Coulson?” Not like he was surprised, he just wanted to clarify. Bucky nodded and looked around, checking their surroundings again.

“How do you know him?” They signed almost at the same time.

Steve waited. Bucky pulled out pen and paper again – Steve kind of admired how he always had these on his person, no matter if they were bloody and bruised on the run or comfortable on a couch in sweatpants.

“His mistress helped me to settle in the human world after my banishment,” Bucky wrote. “You?”

“Old colleague of mine,” Steve said. “Or more like my wife’s. Deceased wife,” he corrected himself.

It was Bucky’s time to ask wordlessly, and Steve sighed. It was clearly a distraction, a strategy to avoid more serious conversations when sitting without words would be too weird. And it… kind of worked, it seemed. Steve was also eager to discuss relatively safe topics from the past in favor of thinking about the titles “ _Queenslayer_ ” and  _"traitor_ ” and the death of a fey that called himself Bucky’s brother and the destruction of his home and…

He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how he ended up here, to be honest, but he was a promising junior agent among the humans. Peggy liked him a lot, so i assume she's behind his presence here. She always said he’s meant for great things.”

For a moment, Bucky seemed utterly confused. “I thought… the woman in your pictures was a human.”

“She was,” Steve agreed quietly, while dealing with the shock of how easy it was to talk about Peggy. It hurt, but it didn't felt like he was numb anymore, nor did he have the urge to shatter things, including himself. “But she became quite familiar with a fair share of our world soon. I asked a healer of our own to treat her, but even we can't cure the old age of mortals.”

Steve looked around again. “I wasn’t aware she introduced Coulson to our world, though.”

“She did, and she did well. My condolences, by the way, your loss is ours as well,” Coulson seemingly appeared from nowhere, making Steve jump a bit. Bucky seemed stoic to the casual viewer but Steve knew better: he could see in Bucky’s eyes that he had been startled. “She’s ready for you. You may go in together or separately, the choice is up to you.”

“Together,” Steve answered immediately, and only after he realized it might not have been wise to assume and make decisions in Bucky’s name as well.

Bucky ducked his head and tightened his hold on Steve’s hand, but nodded and signed agreement.

***

Natasha was beautiful as always. Her autumn-red locks framed her face, and for a second Steve saw the porcelain pale skin of her human form, then he blinked and the image returned to her black-skinned true self.

The three of them were alone in the room, and Steve thought it to be a good sign.

He didn’t bow to her, just stopped a few feet away and looked up at her as she sat in a throne-like seat, dressed in a man's suit at one moment and then in a fairy's ballgown the next.

Bucky went even farther. He let go of Steve’s hand, stepped forward and walked up on the three steps to her, and through his mask he kissed her cheeks. “Nice to see you,” he signed.

Steve’s jaw dropped to the floor again at the sight of this level of casual comfort, more so when Natasha, instead of gutting him for the daring, kissed back and petted Bucky’s flesh arm. “You too,” she said, and her eyes shone with suppressed laughter when she looked at Steve.

“Okay,” Steve said, “I’m not sure anymore if I’m dreaming or not.”

“Well, you must’ve had quite bad dreams lately if it’s still a question.” Natasha’s dry tone indicated that she knew very well just how bad Steve’s dreams were, and Steve swallowed.

“Geez, how closely have you been spying on me lately?” He stepped closer too, but remained on the ground level, not joining them up on the platform.

Nat arched her brows. _“Lately?_ You kidding, right? I’ve always kept a close eye on you. I thought you knew – I never tried to hide the wards around your home.”

Steve just stared at her, lost for words. He had knew Widow was watching - at least after the notes had started to come, but one thing was to look out for his movements and contacts with the fey world, and another was to keep track of his sleep schedule.

Bucky took a step back, like he was trying to detach himself from the forming conversation while he wasn’t involved.

“Oh my, you didn’t even know about that?” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Steve, I don’t even know how you managed to be such a good Captain when you’re this oblivious.”

Steve almost started to argue, but it turned into a question halfway through. “What for?”

He got an eyeroll again. “You’re a better strategist than to ask that.”

“No – I was out of Court business, I was living a quiet mortal life, I didn’t do  _anything_ that’s worth watching. All things considered, I’m barely even a fey!” Bucky winced, like he wanted to interject, but he didn’t. “Seriously, Nat – why?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. She remained quiet for a few seconds, then she stood up and started to walk around absent-minded, like she was checking the walls and entrances, but it was her home, so Steve figured it probably was just a distraction while she collected her thoughts.

Bucky joined Steve and squeezed his hand.

“I’m not the only one keeping an eye on you, Steve. You know damn well, and many of us knew too, that you’ll never cease to be a considerable player in this game as long as you exist. You never _had_ any serious magic to start with, and that lack never stopped you from being dangerous.”

“I don’t even know what’s going on at home—” Steve tried to protest, without any luck.

“That’s your dumb choice, because you’re overdramatic and decided to cut yourself out of the events,” Nat’s tone was merciless and cold, and her gaze turned to Bucky. “But see, you needed only a small push and you’re back in the game again.”

Steve felt his blood starting to boil. “A _small push?”_ he repeated, almost incredulous. “That’s how you want to refer to _Bucky_?” It was even more infuriating because Bucky stood right there and didn’t protest for the way she was the addressing him.

No – he lifted his hand instead, with a placating move, like he was trying to calm Steve down, and it had just the opposite effect on Steve. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down – that’s just _wrong_ ! You’re a person, not just some piece on a board game, or some kind of _bad influence_ like a pop-up ad or—” Steve got so worked up he had to take a deep breath.

“Well he’s certainly a bad influence, believe me I know,” Natasha’s wry tone didn’t falter a bit, and Bucky _blushed_ and Steve definitely wanted to know more. “Later I’ll want a very detailed tale of you two, because I think I missed the best parts of it, which is a shame. You were like a telenovela, honestly. I enjoyed the daily dose of stupid,” she smirked. “But right now we have more urgent business to deal with.”

Bucky immediately straightened up and all the casualness faltered from his posture, he became rigid and alert in the fraction of a heartbeat. Steve couldn’t help but follow suit.

“Yasha, Coulson said you killed Rollins.”

Steve heart basically stopped at the nickname. _Yasha_ – that was how one called a past lover. The term for two fey who had tied their lives together for a period of time and then didn’t renew the vows to each other after the time was up.

The word itself meant that _Bucky and Natasha were together once._ Steve tried to understand the logistics of it. How the Leader of the Outcasts, the Black Widow, Natasha herself could’ve been together with a Winter Soldier, with an intended future King of the Winter Court? And what did it mean that Natasha used this term so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal?

 _Focus_ , Steve told himself, because as curious as he was, she was actually right. _We have bigger problems now and more urgent questions._

As a tactician, of course he agreed with Natasha on this. As someone who lived with Bucky, started to love Bucky, kissed Bucky regularly and was eager to do more than kissing as soon as Bucky indicated he was up to more, as someone who could even imagine his life with Bucky at his side, he couldn’t care less about those urgent questions as opposed to this term.

He smacked the latter part on the head and locked it up deep. The tactician was right. _Safety first, jealousy later._

Not like he needed to be jealous. Nat wouldn’t call him _Yasha_ if this thing between them hadn’t been over.

But he was going to ask them a thing or two nonetheless.

Steve realized, belatedly, that he probably missed Bucky’s confirmation, and a question from Nat too, because both of them looked at him expectantly. Steve’s mind blanked as he tried to come up with a reasonable answer.

Natasha sighed. “Steven, can you do it or not?” After a heartbeat’s pause, she was merciful enough to add, “can you connect the three of us and show me _exactly_ what happened?”

Steve, again, was left speechless. What was Natasha even thinking? Forming a telepathic bond between two people alone was tiring enough, but she suggested to add a third person into the connection, all the while he forced the three of them to not simply _share_ memories with each other, but _relive_ some events _so everyone preserved their own perspective_ throughout… that was expert level telepathy, where Steve was barely mediocre. At best.

“You know I can’t,” he blurted out. “And even if I could, I’d be a useless exhausted mess for a quite long time after, which I can’t really afford now. We’re on the run, if you missed that part when Hunthounds chased us.”

Bucky put his flesh arm around Steve’s shoulders, and it was comforting, it made admitting a weakness easier. _I’m with you,_  Bucky said wordlessly through the gesture.

“I know about that,” Nat said. “I think I can help the fatigue, but I need to know the exact details of the events to figure out what’s going on and to decide what to do with you.”

That caught their attention. “What to do with us?” Bucky repeated, his hand barely visible by the speed of his signing.

Natasha looked him dead in the eyes. “Yes - to figure out if I should help you, leave you alone, throw you out or give you to your respective authorities.”

Steve gaped. “You’re my friend, Nat.”

She nodded. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise, and you are dear to my heart. But I also have to take care of a lot of my people, and I wouldn’t endanger them, not even for you. Prioritizing duty over preference is something I’ve learned from you.”

Steve doubted that last bit a little, given how Natasha was older than him and was in politics longer than Steve, but he had nothing to prove this point, so he didn’t say anything. It was still flattering, knowing what Natasha just admitted. Never mind that Steve was pretty sure his reputation as a dutiful Knight and Captain wasn’t as spotless as once had been, before him getting Tony’s blessing to leave his position for a mortal.

“Even if I were able...” Steve started, hesitantly, but stopped immediately as he felt Bucky’s light touch on his bicep. As he turned, Bucky stepped in front of him, showing his back to Natasha.

_Trust._

Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky trusted him to watch out, or Natasha to not do anything suspicious while Bucky wasn’t watching. Maybe both.

“I consent,” Bucky signed.

“Repeat it slower,” Steve asked wordlessly, just to be sure, but when Bucky did, it remained the same. “To what?” he asked after a beat of pause.

Bucky spared a glance back at Natasha, who pretended not to spy on them while they discussed the situation mutely. Maybe she really didn’t, that was a possibility, one Steve highly doubted. Curiosity was in the very core of the Black Widow – no wonder she ran an underground spy network, operating both in and out of Fae Lands, and in between the two, of course.

“I trust her,” Bucky signed, and Steve had no idea how to answer. _No one_ trusted Natasha Romanoff, not even Tony, and he always saw the best in everyone. Okay, he also expected the worst, that's why he was still king, but anyway. Even Steve would've been hesitant to make a statement as strong as this. Bucky didn't seem to even understand the huge meaning of his words.

“I think she really wants to help. She did when...” he stopped, seemed to think about the best way to describe it. Steve had to pay careful attention to understand everything. “...when I first came here. After I realized I was hunted in the human world.”

Steve wanted to ask a lot of things, but restrained himself. “This will… reveal things,” he said hesitantly, not sure if he was familiar with the correct signs for what he wanted to state. “Nothing to hide. If I can do it at all.”

Bucky nodded. “I know.” Steve tore his eyes from his hands, and looked up at his face, that was still mostly covered in dark fabric, but his eyes were clear and visible, and Bucky’s eyes always expressed him best. He was scared, he looked so terrified and for the first time, so _young_ too. (Steve wondered how old he was actually – he doubted it’d be more than a few centuries.) “I trust you.”

After he was sure he wasn’t about to say something else, Steve took Bucky’s hand in his, covering his fingers with his own, feeling the cool skin under his heat, sensing the barely visible calluses caused by decades of sword practice.

If Bucky was ready to open up, if he was about to accept help, who was Steve to deny this from him?

Worst case scenario, he drains himself to death, which would’ve been unfortunate, but Steve was sure Nat would take care of Bucky in that situation. He knew her – and her drive to help those who had no one else to help them. She would deny it of course, but she had a  huge soft spot for rogues and outcasts, and she built her reign upon this particular strength. And if Steve, by some miracle, didn’t die? Then they’ll know more about the situation, the enemy, and they’ll possibly have a new and powerful ally on their side.

He lifted Bucky’s hand and kissed it, softly but with all his feelings in it.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

***

Steve couldn’t pay attention to the events again.

He had to keep two mental connections alive and open – and this task wasn’t something he could ever consider easy. Given his general weariness to begin with, the state of his and Bucky’s emotionally volatile mindset, and the fact that he never had mindmelded with Natasha before, it was quite a handful – to put it mildly.

No wonder they had taken care to prepare for the experience properly. At least Natasha had insisted _every detail_ was strictly necessary for helping Steve, though Steve had had his doubts. There were rituals that requested the participants to be _naked_ , to be as natural as possible, but he had been fairly positive this wasn’t one of them. Especially since only him and Bucky had been ordered to take their clothes off, while Natasha had remained in her suit-dress.

Two other fey had been present, suspiciously unassuming in looks and quiet as mice as they were fussing around them, making the beds and preparing scented oils and such, things Steve hadn’t really been paying attention to as he had concentrated on himself instead.

Having Bucky laying next to him naked hadn’t helped focusing his thoughts strictly on the task at hand.

The preparations, the special room Natasha had placed them and the two helper who looked out to take care of their physical surroundings to be supportive to Steve made the whole triple connection possible, but not easy.

Steve stood at the sideline of the memory and watched the events like he was outside of them, but he witnessed Natasha’s mental figure slipping _inside_ memory-Bucky (like her body was as solid as a layer of dust and smoke, which actually fitted her surprisingly well) through the fight. Then into Steve’s, like she was looking for something in particular, and he _felt_ the way she observed and scrutinized their thoughts and senses and feelings throughout the experience, but actually _processing_ that would’ve been too much. After a brief check she focused mostly on Bucky, anyway.

He had Bucky, the present-one, the one who was laying next to him in the physical reality, standing next to Steve and watching the events with him, but also there was a memory-Bucky in front of him, fighting the Hunt and the Winter Fey.

Then he re-watched again when Natasha stopped and rewound the memory like a videotape record – Steve was pretty sure he even heard the sound of a tape sliding against a recorder, but maybe it was just his imagination.

He tried to focus on Bucky, but the moment his focus shifted from keeping up the connection the whole memory started to shake and fall apart, so he switched back. Bucky – the one with him, not the one stabbing through the Winter Fey – grabbed his hand to steady him, and it worked to some extent. Made Steve more calm, at least. He mourned less the absence of the colors that he usually saw during mental connections – this time it was plain, exactly the way he experienced it in reality, and Steve wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one.

‘ _You’re doing great,’_ Bucky reassured him, his mental voice a quiet murmur in Steve’s head, and he nearly lost it again, because he immediately thought how similar this was to his real voice, and how rare it is for the two to sound alike this much.

‘ _Hey, no flirting in the background, I’m working here,’_ Natasha joined in, and see, her voice was completely different from the spoken out one. Mentally she sounded like someone who always sang when she talked, with long-dawn vowels and melodic consonants and a way, way softer tone than she preferred in reality.

‘ _Fuck you,’_ Bucky answered, and he almost sounded _cheerful_ , and Steve actually blanked out for a brief second. That resulted in painful mental groans, so he corrected his mistake as fast as he could and swore not to repeat it.

Natasha gathered information meticulously, but Bucky remained close to Steve during the whole projection. He was needed in the memory for his part, for his observations and senses and general overview of the events, but it was clear as daylight he wished anything but to be there. He tried to mask it, of course to no avail, but it was painful for Bucky to watch these scenes again, the events that caused him so much loss and regret.

Steve wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t – he was powerless against reality, he couldn’t change what had happened. He would’ve given his arm to free Bucky from the burden of killing his own kin, but when it happened he didn’t know about the relationship, and the price Bucky would’ve paid for Steve’s action.

Bucky sensed his anguish.

‘ _No,’_ he interrupted, _‘he wasn’t my brother by blood.’_

‘ _WhAt?!’_

The connection flaked out again, and even Natasha yelled at Steve as the ground disappeared from under their feet.

They fell back right into the memory as Steve focused again.

‘ _His name was Rollins. Jack. He was a Winter Soldier,’_ Bucky explained, slowly and quietly, making sure not to disturb Steve too much with the pace of information. Not like it mattered – it wasn’t the speed that was bothering him. _‘Adopted, just like me. So the curse for spilling your own blood doesn’t apply to us.’_ There was a pause, a silence that spoke about grief and regret anyway, but memories filtered through it. _‘He wasn’t a good brother. Or… a good man, in mortal terms. But… we were young together, we trained together, we shared hardships and joys and pain as well. If by not blood, then we were brothers by other means that count just as much,’_ Bucky explained, each word accompanied by feelings and memories like offerings to Steve, showing a world he didn’t know enough before.

He heard rumors about the everyday life in the Winter Court, and they were always bad stories: tales of cruelty and coldness and ruthlessness, yet Bucky’s memories of the Court were warm and soft. Steve always saw the Queen of Air and Darkness as a threat, as a looming figure ready to harm the Summerfolk - but for Bucky, she was a soothing touch on an injured limb, she was a comforting presence before sleep, she was quiet guidance in a particularly hard search in the library. She wasn’t threatening, not for her people – not even when she was hard and unforgiving, because she was always fair.

(There was something, though. Dark thoughts and painful memories and constant threat underlying all the good moments, but it had nothing to do with the Court itself or the Queen, as much as Steve could tell. It came from somewhere else, _someone else_ , and Steve was sure if he had the capacity to dig deeper he would find out, he could give it a shape and a name, he could...)

‘ _You have quite a prejudice,’_ Bucky chuckled, and it seemed like he was unaware how much Steve sensed. _‘That’s fair, I guess – we aren’t better about Summer. To us, you’re chaos and disobedience and dissension.’_

Steve spared a glance toward Natasha who was still preoccupied with Bucky’s memory – it was, probably, the reason Bucky was so ready and willing to talk as a distraction. Steve knew from experience how unsettling this procedure was, someone going over your memories with fine-tooth comb, finding and pointing out details even you weren’t aware of before. She didn’t bother Steve much, possibly because Steve had enough on his plate by maintaining the contact, or maybe because Bucky’s magical abilities made him a better information source. Whatever the reason, Steve was grateful for it.

‘ _So what is Winter about?’_ he asked, choosing not to react too much to that last comment.

‘ _Looking out for each other,’_ Bucky answered immediately and without any hint of doubt in his mind. _‘Winter is the time for trials, sure, trials that only those who stick together survive, but that’s the point. It’s about knowing the bad things and surviving them. Winter teaches everyone that no matter how strong they are individually, they need each other.’_

‘ _Never thought about it like that before,’_ Steve had to admit, but couldn’t hide that he saw the logic in it.

‘ _I know,’_ Bucky said, softly, and something gentle shone through the words that Steve didn’t have a name for. _‘Winter can be cruel and you all_ love _to focus on that. But Winter is also fair and just: punishes the mistakes but rewards the soundness. It makes you strong and reliable. It teaches you to be observant and persistent and disciplined.’_

Steve tried not to think about the faults in his kind and seeing how many of them lacked the qualities Bucky just described.

‘ _When you put it like that, Winter doesn’t sound bad,’_ he admitted, and Bucky chuckled. _‘But Summer isn’t that awful either.’_

‘ _Well, how is Summer from the inside then?’_

Steve tried not to _think_ about it, because that would’ve made it even more difficult to answer. Instead, he just let himself _feel_ it – and let his mind convey these feelings as words to Bucky.

‘ _Summer is about being independent. Summer can be chaotic and unpredictable but never without its own inner rules. Summer is knowing about the bad things and fighting with the fierceness of a sun against them until they are destroyed. Summer is growth, even if the results are unprecedented shapes, and discovering new paths instead of following old ones. Summer makes you unexpected and flexible. It teaches you to be creative and valiant and more importantly, to be yourself, no matter the cost.’_

Bucky was around Steve, hand in hand, mind to mind, embrace tight.

‘ _When you put it like this, Summer doesn’t sound bad either,’_ Bucky smiled.

‘ _You’re disgustingly philosophic to my taste,’_ Natasha appeared next to them. The memory was on standstill: nothing moved around them when Steve looked.

He directed a wordless question toward the Widow.

 _‘I’m done and I got what I needed,’_ she answered. _‘You can finish it.’_

Steve didn’t need to be told twice.


	8. Questions and answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha: You dumb losers, I can't believe I'm going to help you.  
> Steve and Bucky: I mean, you don't have to.  
> Nat: No, I'm gonna.
> 
> (Chapter summary by notasgeekyasidlike.)

When he looked up next, his vision was still blurred by exhaustion. The special room’s ceiling was familiar enough to prevent any panic, but not enough to tip him where he exactly was or why there was a cold-skinned someone pressed up against his side. The world was out of focus, fuzzy and calm.

_ “Rest, Steve,” _ Bucky said, and pressed his lips to the crook of Steve’s neck. Steve obediently closed his eyes – only for them to pop up open again in a second, and Steve stared at Bucky.

“You talked!” he gaped, the calm shattering around him as the other emotions started to creep back to him.

Bucky rolled his eyes.  _ “Did I?” _ His lips didn’t move.

Steve felt even more dizzy. “I’m not doing anything,” he mumbled, and incomprehension made his lips feel cold and numb and his tongue uncooperative. Or was that just a general result of the stunt he pulled who the hell knows how much time ago? “I’m not— I swear I didn’t—”

Bucky rolled over to position himself above Steve, their bare chests touched and Bucky cupped Steve’s face between his hands.  _ “Relax,” _ he commanded.  _ “It’s okay, Steve. You just really need more sleep, okay?” _

His mental voice was the usual velvet caressed through nerves, and Steve couldn’t help but listen to it, weariness weighing him down already, down down down until he fell asleep in the next minute, under Bucky’s watchful eyes and with his hands on his skin.

***

Natasha probably didn’t intend to wake him up, but somehow her presence was palpable even while asleep, and Steve couldn’t just drift off again.

“You can have as much time as you want,” Natasha said, “it’s not like anyone could hurt you here.”

Steve sighed and didn’t wait for Bucky’s answer, who obviously had to have been the recipient of the words.

“Was it worth it?” Steve asked as he opened his eyes, and looked directly at Natasha. “Did you find out something useful?”

She and Bucky looked at him at the same time, her eyes sparkling and his lips pushed into a thin line.

“Yes,” she answered unceremoniously.

“We have to talk about your suicidal tendencies,” he signed at the same time.

Steve groaned at the latter. “I’d rather go back to sleep.”

“Well, completely fine with me,” Nat smirked. “I’ve got what I needed, so you two can enjoy my hospitality as long as you want.”

She stood up to leave, and Steve’s hand darted from under the blankets that were tossed over him, gripping her fingers before he could think about the movement. “Wait!”

Natasha looked down at their hands. Steve didn’t let go of her, not even when she raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Any sensible man would’ve known they shouldn’t touch the Widow unprompted.

Steve knew he was among the rare exceptions who could get away with doing so. “What did you find out?”

_ “Wow, she still didn’t cut off your hand.” _ Bucky’s amused voice said in Steve’s head, and he got startled so bad he accidentally let go of Natasha despite not wanting to. He turned his head so fast his neck actually cracked.

Bucky was still… under the blanket, actually, and he was the cold Steve felt at his side, and Steve realized belatedly that they were still naked and he blushed furiously. Luckily the fact that  _ Bucky was talking in his head right now _ made his confusion and embarrassment basically melt away in the next moment. How—?

_ “I don’t fully understand either,” _ Bucky answered the question before he could form it even mentally.  _ “Seems like we… uh, have a bond. Something to form a permanent, or at least long-lasting mental link between us,” _ he explained, hesitantly, and ducked his head in the end like he expected a backlash.

“Don’t do this to me, it’s terribly irritating,” Natasha interjected, but Steve wasn’t able to do anything else than to stare at Bucky. (Bucky stared back after a while, though less shocked than Steve felt. He probably had time to become accustomed to the idea. And the impossibility of it.) “Oh, great, let’s just have a conversation mentally in the presence of your host and a lady and a  _ spy _ . Honestly. Why would that be rude at all.”

Steve flinched as Nat’s sarcasm left an actual, however tiny physical cut on the back of his hand – and he was lucky to get away with just that much.  Nat's unique magical ability  –  one of them, at least  – w as dangerous: Steve had once  witnessed her carve someone to bones only using her voice.

“But…” he started, and he wasn’t even sure where to start. “I didn’t try to do anything of the sort.”

_ “Seems like you did,” _ Bucky said.

“Then it happened without your consent. See, now you’re both mind-raped, I’m glad we’ve settled that.” Natasha apparently didn't like the topic, and in any other situation Steve would’ve joked about her being ungrateful that he woke up, but right now he wasn’t in the mood for jokes at all. He flinched at her words, and felt Bucky shifting his weight uncomfortably too.

“No,” Steve gaped, and he fully focused on Bucky. Sending thoughts to his direction wasn’t hard anymore – not harder than saying them out loud, strangely.  _ “I would never, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened, Bucky, please, you have to believe me!” _

Bucky bent forward and kissed his lips.  _ “It’s okay, sweetheart, calm down.” _ He spared a particularly nasty glance toward Natasha, and freed his hands to sign, “she didn’t meant like that, right?”

She sighed and shrugged again. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say anything. Can we  _ move on _ finally? You’ll have time to figure out your relationship status later, but I’m kind of a busy lady and have business to take care of, other than you two.”

Steve felt tired already, and he just woke up, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t like what was about to come in the conversation.

But still, a permanent telepathic connection…

“I thought you found us entertaining like a telenovela,” he parroted Nat’s earlier words back to her. Bucky laughed in his head, while he remained expressionless next to him.

She didn’t even answer verbally, but Steve supposed her glance was intended to convey annoyance. Somewhere along the lines of  _ ‘that was before you moved your dumbness onto a mental level where I can’t spy it’ _ or  _ ‘I like soap operas only in medium amounts and you’re extra large by now’ _ or something like that. He couldn’t read Nat’s expression as well as he could Bucky’s.

“Anthony should’ve locked you up before you managed to get an attitude like this,” she muttered, but she finally settled down next to Steve as she talked. “Alright, you wouldn’t let me live otherwise anyway, so in a nutshell here’s what I know. No, I had no idea you would be able to do this, let alone to do this to Bucky. Yes, mutual agreement and consent is needed for this kind of connection, conscious or not, therefore you couldn’t and didn’t force yourself upon him or vice versa. No, I don’t know how long will it last. Maybe till you die. Maybe one more day. Maybe anything in between these two intervals. Yes, you’re dog tired and slept two days because your energy levels are trying to balance out the new arrangement. Once you’ll get used to it, you’ll only need more intake, probably in form of calorie in your case, but will be good to go otherwise – at least this is what I think so. Are you satisfied?”

Steve was quite the opposite and he had so many questions, but Bucky radiated satisfaction in his mind and Steve was tired and comfortable and they indeed had other business to take care of too.

“For now,” he said, and Bucky laughed again, just in his head, and Steve wondered if he was always this cheerful under the stoic mask or this was a special occasion.

“Terrific,” Natasha said, “so now we can discuss our  _ real  _ problems.”

Bucky sobered up immediately and Steve sighed. “Why do I feel this plural to be this threatening?”

_ “Because it is,” _ Bucky agreed wordlessly.

“Because it is,” Natasha said out loud, almost at the same time.

Steve shuddered. He’d have to get used to this.

“Okay,” Nat took a deep breath, “Bucky, how much did you tell him beforehand?”

Bucky ducked his head instead of answering, and Steve didn’t even know where to start explaining how complicated things were, especially in the beginning, and how it wasn’t even important, whatever it was, but decided to be wise and shut up instead.

Natasha sighed again. “You wanna tell him now, or should I do it?”

Bucky didn’t look up. “Sum it up,” he signed.

“With pleasure.” Nat’s dry tone didn’t cut anyone this time, at least. “So. Your boyfriend here—“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Steve protested.

“You sure?” Nat said.

_ “Am I not?” _ Bucky sounded taken aback.

“’course not,” Steve looked from one another. “We’ve just did a permanent mindmeld.  _ Boyfriend _ is really not a strong enough word to describe this, I think. Not to mention all the kissing and fighting and stuff.”

Bucky poked him in the ribs, but he couldn’t hide his relief from Steve anymore. Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re a little shit,” she commented. “Anyway. Like I said,  _ your boyfriend _ is a Winter Soldier, more so he’s the infamous banished Winter Soldier.”

Steve nodded calmly. “I know.”

“He was banished because he betrayed his Court by killing another Winter Soldier.”

Bucky winced and stiffened, and for three seconds his mind erupted into chaos, conflicting emotions and memories barreled through it in an  unintelligible  mess.

Then he closed them up and regulated himself.

_ Discipline _ , Steve remembered Bucky’s own description of the Winter Court. Well, he lived his part for sure.

Steve turned to Bucky and lifted his chin to be able to look him in the eye. “Well. Did you?” 

Shock vibrated through their connection. From the corner of his eyes Steve saw that even Natasha seemed baffled. She regained her composure faster. “Does it count?” she asked.

“Not really,” Steve said, after a moment of consideration, not letting go of the eye contact with Bucky. “Not in the sense that it would change the way I look at Bucky. But I’m curious, because I honestly can’t even  _ imagine  _ him betraying the Winter Court. Not after I witnessed that he willingly risked injuries and death just to spare Huntmembers because they’re now considered Winterfolk. Someone who betrayed his Court would be a little more willing to kill some people who are technically not even his kind, right?” He knew that Bucky knew he was serious. A mental connection was useful like this: the honesty of his words was unquestionable.

_ “You know,” _ Bucky said, both mentally and with his hands, and his voice trembled a little,  _ “you know you’re the first one to even ask this question?” _

Steve tried very hard not to think about that, because he didn’t want to dump his anger on Bucky in the first day of their connection. He’d have plenty of time to get accustomed of Steve’s temper, or so he hoped. He shook his head while tightened his hold around Bucky, pulling him closer.

“Well, that’s not fair. I didn’t ask, sure, but only because something clearly didn’t add up with that story, therefore I didn’t need to,” Natasha interjected again, derailing them from becoming too emotional. 

Steve couldn’t even blame her.

“I guess the rumors of you killing off each other as a regular sport were a bit exaggerated,” he sighed. Bucky blinked in surprise.  "So instead it'd be a deadly sin, who knew. Well, betrayal is punished by death, not banishment, as far as I know,” he continued. “So what had happened?”

He allowed Bucky to hide his face instead of showing it, though he was grateful Bucky used the blankets for this purpose instead of his ever-handy mask. 

“Good logic,” Natasha nodded approvingly. “Bucky?”

_ “I’m still not sure,” _ Bucky said,  _ “it’s still messed up.”  _ Bucky didn’t really elaborate on that, but suddenly there were flashes in front of Steve’s eyes: two different set of memories overlapped before his eyes, dimmed and blurry, showing the same scene from different perspectives. One was the murderer’s, shaky and uncertain, and the other was a witness’s, but just as obscure as the other.

Steve was pretty sure Bucky didn’t want him to see those, only he got so riled up by the topic he couldn’t help but share. There were still a few things they’d have to work out with this telepathy thing.

Natasha paused for several seconds before continuing. Whether she could tell from their expressions that some sort of conversation was running behind her back, or whether she just assumed Bucky would use the newfound communication method, Steve wasn't sure, but she was obviously waiting for them to finish their mental conversation . “Even we weren’t able to find out despite the best of my people investigating - Jessica and the others,” she said quietly. “I think the Queen at least suspected that something was off and that’s why she spared his life.”

That made a lot of sense, and Steve shouldn’t have been so surprised, especially after the conversation he had with Bucky about the Courts. If fair play was so important to Winterfolk – and why wouldn’t it be? he had no reason to think otherwise sans prejudice – then the Queen of Air and Darkness wouldn’t sentence Bucky to death for a crime he might not have committed.

(As opposed to the Summer Court. Tony would have had the best intentions, but he had a tendency to lash out, especially on the rare occasions when he was personally affected.)

Also it would explain why the Hunt were so eager to go after Bucky. If someone believed him guilty, fair play would require his execution in their eyes.

“His memories have been altered by someone.” Steve jumped from thought to thought as he tried to figure out the situation.

“Thanks to you, I was able to dig into his brain in the memory you two showed, and, I must say, it’s the most messed up mind I’ve seen in my career, and I’ve seen some shit. No wonder I wasn’t able to  examine it directly .”

Bucky shuddered at Nat’s words. Steve listened carefully to her explanation on why she needed this trip exactly. (At least one of the reasons, he supposed, because he knew her better than to believe she’d go such lengths as pushing him to the brink of death for  when she had only one goal to achieve .) Doing such profound examination  of someone's brain could easily drive them mad, but a memory - well, a memory can't be driven mad. The procedure sure as hell wasn’t pleasant for Bucky, but no actual harm was done.

It was actually a pretty brilliant shortcut. Complicated and required a lot of energy and Steve’s cooperation, but solved a problem in a way Steve never heard of about.

All in all, Steve was impressed, and Natasha must’ve been too, otherwise she wouldn’t have revealed her methods to brag about them. But Steve liked that too. It was good to see Nat pleased, and not just because that meant she wouldn’t literally bite your head off.

They were silent for a while, and Steve burrowed himself further into the warm-pleased-nice feelings he felt since his waking up. He knew he should’ve been more worried about the fact that there was another person in his head, or that he didn’t know the mechanics of this arrangement, or that Bucky apparently had a ‘messed up’ mind – and he did care about these things of course, but at the same time he didn’t. They just didn’t seem that important compared to the fact that he could be this close to Bucky.

Which was also fucked up, and he knew that too.

And Bucky didn’t mind being  _ naked _ next to him and  _ hugging him _ and…

This really wasn’t the right time to wonder about that.

So he thought about the new informations instead, focusing on problems that had to be solved. He was good with solving problems.

“…wait,” Steve said after a while and turned to Bucky with a frown. “If you were banished because you were framed for a murder of a fellow prince, why did the Winter Soldier call you  _ Queenslayer _ ?”

“Oh yeah, that was the other reason I had to know everything,” Natasha said, swinging her legs a little on her seat. “Makes no sense at the moment, right?”

“At the moment,” Bucky repeated, and somehow even his signs seemed flat, or maybe it was just how he felt himself.

“I don’t see any other explanation,” she shrugged.

Steve looked from one to another. “That’s insane,” he blurted out. “You say someone wants to kill  _ the Queen? _ And then blame it on Bucky? There are so many easier ways to commit suicide.”

Neither Nat nor Bucky laughed.

“I mean, c’mon,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Killing Wanda Maximoff? I’d slice my throat before tryin’ an assassination against her. The strength of her powers is unprecedented. She’d be a match even for Tony. I just can’t see anyone waltzing up to her and succeed anyhow. And how to make it look like Bucky did it? It’s not like you can blame a crime like this on anyone without foolproof evidence.”

They were still uncharacteristically silent. Well, maybe not uncharacteristically, but it was suspicious at least. Even the connection with Bucky felt blank. Steve squinted at them.

“What else.”

“I’m not sure if it’s about blaming him,” Natasha said softly, “rather than making him do it.”

Steve waited for the punchline, but it didn’t come. Bucky slouched down more, like he wished to disappear through the mattress.

“You are pranking me, now,” Steve looked from one to another then back. “Like I said, Bucky won’t even kill Huntmembers, he won’t go up against and stab his own mother and ruler. No way to make him…”

He was sure, he was so sure of his words, but as he said them, something changed, something broke in Bucky like a dam pouring over, and dread flooded Steve. He had to swallow and take deep breaths as adrenaline spiked high in his system, because Bucky felt threatened, felt like he was in danger - and Steve felt it too and reacted like it was him.

That probably hit closer to the truth than any of them would like to admit. The borders between their minds weren’t clear anymore.

“I wish,” Natasha said, and  _ she sounded heartbroken. _

Steve’s heart sank. He had never heard Natasha let her negative emotions show this obviously. She was careful with positivity too, but even more so with anything upsetting. She hated if others saw her true colors too much.

Bucky touched Steve’s face hesitantly.  _ “I’ve done things,”  _ he said, careful and well-articulated even without an actual voice, and Steve instinctively knew that he put in particular effort to sound calm and neutral.  _ “I’ve done things for them that I’m ashamed of now. They… have their methods.” _

Steve didn’t know how to respond to that, but Natasha saved him as she started speaking again.

“Like I’ve said, Bucky’s mind is kind of a mess. There is some long-lasting damage.” She was dead serious and looked at them sharply. “It’s evident that someone has magical abilities to force other fey into choiceless obedience. Never seen such talent before, never heard of it before, which makes sense if their victims are similar to him.”

Steve felt too weak to ask properly, but Natasha was prepared as always.

“It’s total control, Steve, a level that surpasses even the way we play with some mortal minds. If the master wants him to remember something differently? He will remember it differently and will be fully convinced that’s the truth. Or he will forget their names and faces, if told so. If they want him to do something, he’s going to do it. Even if it means he has to walk up to Wanda Maximoff and stab her in the back. Even if it means betraying everything he stands for in his right mind.”

Steve was pretty sure Bucky didn’t even breath during the explanation. There was complete silence from his side, both mentally and physically, and when Steve tore his eyes from Nat to look at him, that godawful mask was on him and Bucky didn’t meet his eyes. But he didn’t try to drag himself away from the embrace either.

“Bucky?” Steve tried, but no answer came anyhow. The mental connection felt completely cut off and Bucky didn’t look him in the eye. Steve figured he could give a little more time to him, if that’s what Bucky wanted, so he turned his gaze back to Natasha. “It sounds impossible. This level of control over a  _ sidhe’s _ mind would tear the controller apart mentally.”

“Normally I’d agree, but I can’t interpret what I’ve seen otherwise. We can hope it’s not true and I misunderstood something. Sure, that’s a possibility. But not a high chance, and—” she combed her hair with her fingers nervously, “—and  we have to be prepared for the worst anyway.”

Sadly, Steve couldn’t argue with any of that. He kind of doubted Natasha was ever wrong in her assessments and situation analysis, and being prepared never got old. But it was still insane and impossible.

“If they had this kind of control over Bucky – over anyone, really – then how come Bucky is here and not with them, not where they want him to be?”

The silence that stretched between them became uncomfortable and awkward the second Steve finished the sentence, and was just dragged on and on. Steve wished he could sense Bucky again, but somehow he wasn’t able to anymore. That alone would’ve been worrying enough, even without the added anxiety of the topic they were talking about.

“Don’t you fucking dare to tell me—” Steve started.

“It’s a possibility we can neither confirm nor refute,” Natasha said in a leveled voice.

“They tried to kill him repeatedly, for fuck’s sake!”

“Listen, I’m not saying that’s part of the plan, but they definitely  _ know  _ the extents of Bucky’s abilities, and he’s still alive!”

“And what about me, am I also part of their fucking conspiracy or what?!”

Natasha didn’t even articulate a proper word, just let out some kind of screeching sound that slapped Steve on the face. It wasn’t a particularly hard blow, but a fair warning. Friends or not, Natasha was still their host, and she never let anyone get away with disrespect.

Steve shut his mouth so firmly his teeth clicked.

“Speaking of you,” Natasha said, like she just remembered something, “how’s your side and back?”

The presence at the other side of the connection filled Steve with input again, shame and embarrassment and fear and concern in a mixture. He met Bucky’s eyes who  revealed his face again so he could study Steve openly. His gaze had weight that felt almost physical.

“Fine,” Steve spat. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you’ve been thrown at a fire escape repeatedly?” Her sarcasm was harmless this time.

Steve shrugged. “And?” It’s not like he hadn’t taken punches worse than this.

_ “Steve,” _ Bucky said, and for a brief moment he couldn’t regulate his feelings as tightly as usual, and the strength of his worry was a heavier hit than Nat’s slap earlier.  _ “That staircase was made of thick iron.” _

Steve felt his eyes go round, and saw it too, with a second delay, through Bucky’s vision for a heartbeat as their shared shock resonated through both of them. Only Steve was shocked by the information, while Bucky’s surprise came from the fact that Steve  _ didn’t know. _

_ He hadn’t even noticed hardened steel on his own skin. _

There was no training and no combat focus on heaven and hell to tune out a hit with iron. That was just… fucking impossible.

_ “I felt the ironsickness even from my distance,”  _ Bucky mused.  _ “I couldn’t switch off from my peripheral during the whole fight. My heart nearly stopped when Rollins threw you at it. And he did repeatedly.” _

That… explained… some things from the fight. Like the shadow-figure’s obvious surprise when Steve repeatedly got easily on his feet after the attacks when all things considered he should’ve been partially paralyzed at best after the first try.

It also made zero sense.

“I didn’t feel it,” he blurted out helplessly, and his free hand flied to his side to tap on his unmarked skin. “It didn’t even hurt, not counting the impact.”

Natasha tilted her head to the right. “You know how to make life complicated.” She looked over at Bucky, and her expression softened. “You really saved him, Yasha, didn’t you?”

“I don’t get it,” Steve said, unease settling in his stomach.

“I didn’t do anything,” Bucky signed at the same time.

She let her chin down on her palm, and sighed. “I was worried about you, Steve.”

Well. That twist was a surprise that he managed to hide to some extent. He kind of expected Nat to be slightly interested in him, they were friends after all, but never expected outright and loudly admitted worry. “I was fine,” he stated, more or less on autopilot.

“No, you weren’t. There were days when you barely moved,” Nat shrugged and this was probably the most direct she admitted just  _ how  _ closely he watched Steve. “I’ve seen it enough to know what was going on, and that I can’t effectively help you.”

“Seen what?” Anger curled in Steve’s gut, the tension started to build up. He knew that Widow liked to talk in riddles, that was part of the package with her, but sometimes it still made red-hot rage burn through him. It was a long time ago that it happened last, though.

Which maybe was part of her point.

“Fading away,” Natasha withstood his stare. “You missed Peggy so much, and you didn’t accept any help from anyone to deal with it, curled up on and isolated yourself from our world instead of embracing it to help you through grief. I knew where that would lead. I knew you gave up.”

“That’s not—” Steve started, but was unable to finish. He  _ knew _ , at least deep down, that Widow was right. He knew when he first refused to interact with fey, even with Natasha when she tried to visit; he knew when he had no strength to get out of bed for more than a few minutes. He knew, and he actually liked the idea, as much as he was able to  _ like _ anything at that time. He just didn’t admit it, not even to himself, because denying the truth was easier than facing it, when the fact was his slow ceasing of existence. 

“That’s not,” he tried again, not sure anymore how to continue. “I was.” Yes, he was. Barely. And a mess. Even without the fey being unable to lie, his consciousness wouldn’t let him say anything else.

(Not like fey had consciences to begin with, right?)

Life just seemed so  _ pointless _ without Peggy. And not clinging to it was so much easier than doing anything with it, against it.

Now, in hindsight, Steve was ashamed of himself. He was proud to be a warrior, a fighter all through his life. He endured and forced through everything, from his practically-magicless state through his Mom’s loss to the endless hardships of his well-earned position; and yet.

It seemed even he was able to run out of fight at some point.

And it took Bucky to literally stumble into his life for him to start regaining himself again.

It was Bucky’s merit to some extent, but of course it was Steve too. The mysterious Winter Fey in his garden meant… something to do. Having a purpose meant he had to maintain a routine, and that helped. Tasting the freedom of being  _ alive _ again made him want more, and made him work for getting that ‘more’. Being in pursuit of Bucky’s secrets, having the mission to earn his trust made him reconnect with his feelings, instincts, his true core. And his core was all fire and fight.

And Natasha somehow, of course, saw all of this, clear as daylight, and Steve blushed again for being this easy to figure out. What was even more embarrassing was the fact that Bucky probably saw his whole thought process too.

Steve tentatively tried to reach out for Bucky with his mind, but again found only static noise and empty walls. Steve looked down at him, with mask and all, and Bucky didn’t shy away this time. “I didn’t want to pry,” he signed warily, and didn’t try to let down the walls around his thoughts.

Steve started to see a pattern, but was busy with everything else to actually focus on it.

“How does this come to anything?” he asked, because first, he wouldn’t admit out loud she was right, and second, that was the piece from the puzzle that Steve still was missing.

“You don’t get death or near-death experiences without paying the price for them, Steve. Resurrection never comes for free.” Natasha sighed. “Remember how often you like to joke about barely being a fey? Well, now – that’s closer to the truth than ever.”

“What,” Steve said.

“What,” Bucky signed.

“As far as I can tell, you’re still one of us, but many of your characteristics are… well, they seem like human ones. Emotionally, for example. I suppose if you’d have any active magical abilities to begin with, they’d be gone by now.”

“I have a fucking permanent telepathy with Bucky!” Steve protested, and felt Bucky nodding along with him vehemently.

“Yeah, that’s a  _ passive _ . Always was, always will be. More like a sixth sense than anything – doesn’t even count as  _ magic  _ in our book, and you haven’t been thinking about it as magic before. You started after you’ve lived among the mortals for a while.”

“He’s still pretty good with it,” Bucky noted.

Nat waved, gesturing at herself and Bucky. “Compared to us? Sure. Wait until you experience the other Summerfolk.” No one mentioned that Bucky most definitely already did that, and got some permanent effects, if she was right about the whole mindcontrol gimmick. 

Telepathy and other mental abilities were Summer gifts.

Steve’s heart sank again just at the thought. 

“Not the point, though,” Natasha continued. “Steve’s lack of magic always made him less affected by electricity and iron, and now he’s a lottery winner in terms of luck, because among other mortal traits he seems mostly immune to it.”

Wow.  _ Woooooow _ .

Steve was speechless.

Bucky pinched himself, then Steve, and rolled his eyes when Steve groaned by the sudden impulse, and grinned at him, mask long gone.  _ “Fucking awesome. You’ll be able to carry an iron blade? Just imagine how effective that would be, even without any added magic! I figured you can’t have an enchanted one like mine, but a sword made of iron! That would be just as deadly in a fight! And knives! Even fucking pins, honestly, literally anything can become a hell of a weapon if made of iron!” _

Steve couldn’t decide if his enthusiasm was refreshingly adorable or genuinely worrisome. Probably the first. Steve couldn’t help but smile too, excitement rushing through him, and it probably was his own as well, not just Bucky’s.

He always kind of envied the fancy magical weapons some fey were able to carry. Now he’d have one that could match them.

Except. Of course. He wasn’t familiar with iron at all, he didn’t even know if it was a material suitable for a blade or not. But it was worth looking into, for sure. Someday.

Not like they were in a hurry. Were they?

_ “We’re safe,”  _ Bucky answered to his concerned thought, both mentally and with his hands.

Natasha took this as her clue to stand up. “Gentlemen, it was a pleasure, but I’m afraid I have other work to do as well. Think about this for a while, rest and heal.” This sounded suspiciously like an order, but Steve figured he’d let it pass this time. It was enough to mention rest and he felt like his eyelids weighed a ton and his body just felt the urge to remind him all at once what an impossible strain the little memory-show and bond-making must’ve been to it. Hell, it seemed like he had two modes only: wide awake or fast asleep, nothing in between.

“Oh and if you have sex, have it with open doors, we all like a good show!” she added cheerfully as she left.

He waved to Nat, or flipped her off – at least he thought he did, but maybe that was Bucky? – then closed his eyes and immediately drifted off to sleep.


	9. Silence before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a plan. Or, at least, a decision. That's like half of a plan, right?  
> Wrong.  
> At least they're safe at Natasha's place and have some time for themselves.

Natasha was a good host, and they really needed some rest after the emotional drain of recent events. It should have been a relief not to be in immediate mortal danger. But fey or not, Steve was still, essentially, Steve.

Which meant he got restless.

The mental connection remained open between him and Bucky – at least to some extent. Whenever Bucky summoned his mask, the link faded away, just like Steve suspected. It made sense – the two magics just weren’t compatible. As opposed to their first conversation after their first sword practice, the mask won over the link and the former shut off the latter immediately.

Despite Natasha’s teasing, Steve and Bucky didn’t have sex. They hadn’t gone that far before either, and neither of them initiated anything now. Steve, for his part, was pretty sure he didn’t want to have his first time with Bucky in a house where probably not only the walls but the floors and even the ceilings had eyes and ears, and he definitely didn’t want to risk getting disturbed in the middle of it. Because their door didn’t come with a key to it, and anyone could just walk in on them.

Shyness was, it seemed, another human trait he had acquired. He never had problem with public sex in the Court, even though he never took part in it either, probably because he was on guard on most occasions. In hindsight, he wanted to think it was his _choice_ , because he’d do that now, but he wasn’t sure it was true at that time too.

Anyway. Steve kissed Bucky often and passionately, and let his hands trail down on his spine, following the trench between solid muscles and the slight bumps of his vertebrae. He let his fingers trace Bucky’s scars, and let his lips discover all the pale magical markings covering the skin and the silver plates where the metal arm connected to his body, when Bucky was comfortable enough not to wear the disguise-charm that had made Steve think he had two flesh-and-bone arms for months. The signs left a bitter Winter-taste in his mouth and numbness on his tongue, but Steve loved that too.

Once Bucky held him down, pinned to the mattress, and Steve’s eyes traced the light sliding on the metal plates as they shifted and flexed to keep him down while he tried to wriggle himself free, and Bucky kissed him until he couldn’t see straight. (Maybe he never could see straight.) Steve took revenge by overcoming him and doing the same to him, enjoying the playful wrestling – and passing out one-point-five minutes later after they decided to have a rest and just lay next to each other, limbs and fingers and thoughts entangled.

Natasha came and went, mostly when Steve wasn’t awake, as Bucky informed him. He didn’t think it was on purpose – she did have her duties, after all. He didn’t think it was accidental either. It was… just convenient, probably.

Because whenever they were both awake and in the same room, Steve started to nag her about the course of action she wanted to take in light of the new information. He knew he was annoying - and she definitely didn’t shy away from addressing this fact - but that was the whole point.

And anyway, Steve really wanted to know her plans.

“I won’t do anything!” she snapped on the third occasion.

“Why not?”

“Maximoff is a big girl, she can take care of herself. Another war between the Courts? Not my business.” Natasha gestured widely around them. “I have my own problems, and my own people. I’m not responsible for hers. Or his, by the way, before you mention Anthony.”

Steve had no idea what must’ve happened between Widow and the King that resulted in a full-first-name-basis relationship.

“You might not be responsible, but I am,” he said quietly, and he felt Bucky’s cool presence both in his mind and physically behind himself. It was solid, comfortable and familiar – sometimes he felt he couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t a constant, even though it was just days ago.

“You were expelled,” Natasha reminded him. Which was, technically, true, but it never meant he stopped caring about Tony, because Tony was his King, his duty, his best friend, his father-figure, and so on. One could take the this particular fey out of the court, but couldn’t take the court out of the fey, or however that saying goes.

“I still don’t wish war upon my home,” he answered, Bucky’s hand slipping around his waist.

“There won’t be any _war_ and no one’s going to get hurt if you two just stay here and don’t make any trouble.”

Normally, Steve would agreed with her. “My nightmares are not over,” he confessed. Bucky pressed his forehead to the back of his neck, and Steve leaned back ever so slightly, lolling his weight to his heels. “I know, it might be just… dunno, stress or whatever. But I can’t just ignore them.”

While Bucky, thanks to his mask probably, was silent even during nightmares, Steve was not: he growled and grunted and tossed and turned... In a nutshell, he was a terrible bedmate during them. So when Steve didn’t sleep well – which nowadays was every time he slept, not counting basically-unconsciousness-level exhaustion – then Bucky didn’t sleep well either. First, because it’s hard to nap away undisturbed for anyone when your partner almost knocks your teeth out with his elbows unintentionally, and second, because Bucky was an extremely light sleeper who woke up to any noises. Which resulted both of them sporting decent black circles under their eyes. Bucky’s were far from the unhealthy and hollow gaze he had when he first woke up on Steve’s couch, but Steve didn’t want to wait for it to get that bad.

Not if there was a chance he could do something about it. Taking revenge on the people who had hurt Bucky and stopping a conspiracy against the crowns were just minor bonuses, right?

“So what would you do? Show up in the Winter Court and offer an iron sword to Maximoff?” Even Natasha couldn’t keep the incredulousness from her voice, when faced with Steve’s stupidity.

“No.” He stopped for a brief second, hesitated when he should’ve been absolutely sure. It’s not like he came up with this answer in the spur of the moment: he thought about it, both consciously and unconsciously, awake and in dreams. He still couldn’t control his dreams at all, but now Bucky was an almost permanent character in them, and it didn’t make anything easier.

Steve suspected Bucky wasn’t just a product of his imagination during these occasions, but they carefully avoided even thinking about that in each other’s mental presence.

(Bucky was way, _waaay_ better at that game than Steve.)

“No,” he started over again. “But I can’t stay out of it. I have to at least _warn_ them.” He squared his shoulders, ready to argue with anyone.

 _“This is a stupid idea,”_ Bucky said immediately.

“Are you out of your mushy mind? Did being more human turn you into even a bigger moron?” Natasha spat at the same time.

Steve sighed. “I’m not talking about Maximoff,” he tried to explain as patiently as he could.

 _“Good, because she would have to kill you at first sight,”_ Bucky added, ever so helpful. Steve rolled his eyes, exasperated.

“I’m talking about going back home.”

Natasha froze, and Steve felt that Bucky held his breath too.

“What?” she finally said. Bucky exhaled, slow and controlled and made his mind as blank as he could.

Steve shrugged. “Like you pointed out recently, as opposed to Bucky, I was _expelled_ , not _banished_. I’m allowed to beg for forgiveness and trust my King with my future.”

Bucky was afraid – Steve felt it throbbing behind their eyes like a headache. Natasha’s stare was simply incredulous, but if he learned something from his connection with Bucky it was to never believe anymore what people’s faces conveyed.

“You,” she said. “And begging.” She shook her head. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have to warn him,” Steve repeated, never not stubborn. “It’s my duty.”

“You,” Natasha gaped, and sighed, and closed her eyes with the expression of a person who prays for more patience. “You don’t _have_ any _duties_ anymore,” she spelled out slowly, she even signed it carefully, like she suspected Steve’s hearing got damaged somehow. Bucky quietly snickered in Steve’s brain despite the dread, but otherwise he remained silent and distant.

“I might have again,” Steve shrugged, and stopped, a little bit of hesitation before he added. “If I go home and I get pardoned and Tony listens to me, I might also be able to convince him to get healers. For Bucky.”

Bucky’s breath got stuck again, and Natasha tilted her head slightly. “Those are some big fat IF conditions, Steve, with no guarantee at all.”

 _“Correct me if I’m wrong,”_ Bucky started, softly and quietly in words while his emotions were not as controlled, wavering around barely contained, _“but if the expelled fey goes back and his request is denied, they would be killed for stepping foot on the Lands unauthorized again.”_

 _“Tony is not like that,”_ Steve answered without a hint of doubt.

He knew his King. He knew _Tony_. He was more than positive that Tony would welcome him back with open arms anytime – in fact, he probably expected him to be back by now. King Anthony was a ruler and a royal, but also he was Steve’s friend.

 _“I can’t let you risk your life for me once more, Steve,”_ Bucky said, and signed as well, probably for Natasha to be included in the conversation again.

“It’s not just about you,” Steve tried, and was relieved to see he was able to say it, so it must’ve been true.

“It’s stupid and risky,” Natasha said, but she was thoughtful and didn’t look at them at all, calculating the ways it could go right or wrong, the possible outcomes and scenarios. Steve had no doubt she was also measuring if she could profit off the turn of the events as well. “It’s probably something no one expects. There’s a chance to surprise everyone on the board.”

Bucky threw his arms up in the air, defeated. Steve couldn’t read his expressions and his emotions other than a big chunk of genuine betrayal and frustration. He spun around on his heel, let out a sharp, angry hiss, then faced them again.

“Okay, let’s do this,” he signed while the mental connection conveyed, _“Okay, let’s be stupid then.”_

Natasha and Steve stared at him equally confused. “Do what?” he asked.

“I’m coming too,” Bucky signed, with grim determination.

“Oh no,” Natasha said.

“The hell you are!” Steve yelled.   

***

It took a full day of arguing, strategizing, yelling and snarling at each other, but Bucky won.

Like Steve could ever deny him anything. He took him in the first moment they met, when any sane person would’ve throw him out of their borders and left him to his fate because he clearly meant trouble – but not Steve. No, Steve not only invited him to his home and offered him protection, but let him into his head and heart as well, and here they were.

Preparing for a roadtrip to the heart of the Summer Lands, an expelled Summer Knight and a banished Winter Soldier. “It will be fun,” Steve said with fake cheer, not letting the worry getting the best of him.

Bucky rubbed his temple and lost count of his exasperated sighs.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Natasha said, clearly thinking that they very much didn’t. “I hate self-fulfilling prophecies.”

She didn’t try to talk Bucky out of joining Steve, clearly realizing the impossibility of that task. If Steve was going, Bucky couldn’t stay behind, Bucky made that very clear from the beginning. And Natasha could sooner sweet talk a mountain to move than stop Steve from doing what he felt was right.

Tactically speaking, it was an idiotic decision. Bucky couldn’t hurt anyone from Natasha’s well-protected home that could be dubbed a fortress. But Bucky basically lost everything when he was banished, and he wasn’t going to lose Steve as well, not if there was anything he could do about it.

Steve, faced with the intensity of his feelings and his attachment, didn’t have the strength to deny this wish, especially when it actually aligned with Steve’s own. Fuck strategies and all logical bullshit, when he didn’t want anything else but Bucky by his side.

So they were leaving together.

After Steve got better balanced magically, at least. Natasha insisted on that.

***

 

Bucky stretched like a cat on the bed, resting on his stomach with his head on his hands. Even his ears seemed relaxed. Steve watched him with quirked eyebrows and tilted head. “Hey, Bucky, would you mind if I’d draw you?”

Bucky tensed up briefly, but it was gone as fast as it came. He squinted a little, and Steve obediently came closer and rested a hand on Bucky’s elbow. As useful as their mental connection was, without physical contact, it could only transmit emotions. They still had to actually touch to be able to talk through it.

_ “What do you want to use it for?” _ Bucky asked, and Steve sucked his lower lip in.

_ “Nothing,” _ he replied as calm as he could. “I can’t do magic, remember? I can’t enchant it or use it against you.”

Bucky rolled on his back and grabbed Steve’s hand.  _ “I didn’t want to…” _ He didn’t finish.

Fey couldn’t lie after all, and Steve knew exactly that Bucky did meant his question: because among their own kind, looking out for a possible threat and using every opportunity to use each other was the norm. Fey never felt remorse over using opportunities and making deals - and getting permission for creating an image of one another could be used in many ways with the right talents.

Talents that Steve lacked and a stomach he didn't have anymore.

Bucky sighed.  _ “I’m sorry,” _ he said, and he meant that too.

Steve put his free hand on Bucky’s arm too.  _ “It’s okay.” _

Memories streamed between them. Steve showed, not exactly ashamed at himself but not proud either, some deals that he made in his past, because he wasn’t nearly as good as Bucky expected him to be.

Bucky’s leaking memories were of trainings and lessons to be alert all the time, occasions when even his  _ masters _ deceived him.

Steve recoiled at the mere idea. The master-apprentice relationship was of utmost trust, and the thought that even that was fouled for Bucky made his fingers curl into angry fist, until he realized from bucky's uncomfortable silence that he was squeezing his arm too hard.

He loosened his grip immediately and made his mind relax too, deep breaths and thoughts of Bucky filling him with a sense of security.

_ “Okay,” _ Bucky said.  _ “If you want to, then I’d like you creating a picture of me.” _

Steve obtained colored pencils and good paper by next morning and started working. Bucky sat still, half-naked, motionless like a statue. The mental connection between them was filled with quiet complacency. The only sound was the scraping of the pencil’s tip on paper for a while.

“How old were you when the Queen found you?”

Bucky leaned forward to reach Steve with the tip of his fingers.  _ “Young enough,” _ he said, and didn't elaborate further.  _ “She was traveling through the land when she noticed me. They say I was fighting off an osprey from catching fish. She came over and explained why it was pointless and why should I quit it.” _ There was a pause, and Steve wordlessly nudged Bucky to continue.  _ “I explained to her in vivid detail that she was wrong and even if I couldn’t save every fish from every bird, I liked these particular fishes and I could save them, so I shouldn’t quit until the birds learned not to hunt there.” _

Steve hummed and smiled, imagining Bucky as a little kid and telling off his Queen, while he started drawing Bucky’s new pose with his free hand.

_ “In three days I was in her provincial residence to get my training.” _

_ “And your parents let  _ _ her take you _ _?” _ Steve was focusing to get Bucky’s lips right on paper, to distract himself from thinking about the story too deeply. To not think about a young Bucky, with shining and hopeful eyes, believing he’d be a Prince and then being turned into a brainwashed weapon instead.

_ “I lived with my mom and four sisters,”  _ Bucky shrugged,  _ “I don't remember them much, but I know for sure she was glad to get rid of me. I ruined the family's perfect all-daughter reputation.” _

Steve didn't know what to say to that. Some traditions weren't meant to be respected, at least in his current opinion.

“And what about…” he hesitated, because he was about to poke at sensitive topics. But as much as he wanted to know for personal reasons, he also needed to know information that could turn out to be vitally important for their mission as well. “You always refer to the conspirators only as ‘them.’”

Bucky's gaze sharpened and he pressed his lips into a thin line. Steve started another quick sketch below the last one.

_ “They are called Hydra.” _ He took a deep breath and Steve shuddered. Hydras were extinct for a reason, and that reason was past rulers hunting them until not one remained. Steve wasn't sure why they did it, or what made hydras that terrifying. It wasn't an odd name choice for a traitorous organization though.  _ “I… I don't have evidence against him, but her adviser, Pierce must've known what was going on during our training. Most of the boys there were hand-picked by him. He visited us often. Made sure that.. we were treated right.” _ Bucky's mental voice was quivering, and Steve started to tremble from anger.  _ “We did learn the things Wand-- Her Majesty wanted us to know to be prepared, from manners through dance moves to defending ourselves. We just learned a lot more than that.” _ The images accompanying the words were more than disturbing. Bucky injured, Bucky drowning, Bucky beaten up. Bucky screaming as some magical tool was pressed to his temple, burning its marks into his skull. Bucky fighting against his friends, terrified for his life if he lost.  Bucky being the best, because he was afraid of dying if he wasn't . All these memories were blurry and scarred, sometimes hardly visible through mist.

Steve barely could stand it, and he was only witnessing it from the safety of decades, centuries passed. The pencil snapped half between his fingers, and Bucky shivered.

_ “It's okay,”  _ Steve murmured, both in their head and out loud.  _ “They can't have you again, Bucky, I wouldn't let them. We're going to stop them. It's okay.”  _ He repeated the words, over and over again like a mantra, copying the way Bucky had calmed him down after that nightmare on the clearing. He pulled Bucky close and hugged him tight, brushing soothing circles on his bare back.

They remained still for a long time, until Bucky composed himself enough to pull away.

_ “Finish the drawing, Steve,”  _ he said.

Steve obeyed and drew all day, capturing Bucky from various angles and in different lights, and their conversations, if they had any, were more lighthearted afterwards.

Natasha called dibs on four of the drawings, and after a quick glance to see that Bucky was okay with it, Steve gladly gifted them to her.

***

On the morning of their departure, which came as soon as their injuries were no more than fading scars and Steve was confident he wouldn't pass out in the middle of a fight, Natasha danced into their room. Well, she just walked in, but her movements looked graceful like dancing anyway.

“You’re gonna get yourselves killed,” she greeted them.

“I’m in love with your optimism,” Steve deadpanned, “so much. I should make out and have children with it. They’d be beautiful offspring.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you well,” she blew him off, turning her attention to Bucky.

 _“Yes it does,”_ Bucky couldn’t help but argue, if only in Steve’s head.

She held out a little box toward him. “Yasha. I have zero idea if any of these will help you or not, but this is the most I can offer in these circumstances.”

Bucky didn’t open the box. He accepted it with a bow, two of his fingers pushed to his lips while doing so, in the polite way to thank a gift without actually saying the words that would’ve made him indebted for the acceptance, and spirited it away somewhere without looking at it twice. Which meant he probably knew what was inside already.

Steve didn’t have time to ask, though, because Natasha’s focus switched back at him. “Steven.” She smiled, a pale little thing on her lips, and for once Steve was sure it was a completely honest gesture. Bucky’s mental presence faded from his awareness yet again. “I hope you’ll be again what you once were, but that’s not up to me. However,” she continued, before Steve could put his foot in his mouth, “I once got a gift from you and now I’ve decided that I’ve kept it to myself long enough.”

She whistled.

A dog rushed into the room, straight to Steve.

He opened his arms immediately and without actually thinking, something in him knew what was coming even before the hound landed in his embrace and he was toppled onto his ass. “Beth!” he yelped, and laughed, and let the dog lick his face with furious vehemence, tail wriggling faster than it was possible to track with his eyes. “Where have you left Marge?”

“Margaret stays with me, but I thought Elisabeth could serve you well in this idiotic quest of yours,” Natasha said, not elaborating the other dog’s whereabouts in her usual answers-but-not-quite way. Out of the two hounds (named after famous British Queens, obviously) that Steve gifted to Natasha after Peggy’s death, Margaret was the attacker and Elisabeth was the protector. It made sense to let Beth come with them while she withheld Marge.

“Will they be okay if separated?” Steve looked up from his place, squinting when an overly enthusiastic lick targeted his eyes.

“It’s true they work better in pair, but they’d been apart before, they’ll be fine.” It was clear she wasn't convinced Steve would be, but she didn't need to say that out loud. “Just don’t get my dog killed, you moron.”

“I swear I’ll do my best to keep her as safe as possible,” Steve said, but had the decency to include not one, but two failsafes in his promise. He didn’t want to get stuck in between realms just because he died without fulfilling a promise or something.

Not that he planned to die at all. Obviously.

But it was a realistic possibility.

As much as he tried to convince Bucky and Nat of the opposite, he didn’t harbor any illusions on that front. But he still thought that no risk was high enough to abandon doing the right thing.

And helping Tony was the right thing. If not out of obligation to a good king and a former position, then because he was Steve’s friend and had never hesitated to help Steve either.

The only thing that screwed up this equation was that now Bucky was in the balance too, and if there was one thing Steve wasn’t in a hurry to risk it was Bucky. But then again – it was Bucky’s _choice_ to come, he _insisted,_ in fact. He couldn’t have been held back by a dozen stallions and Steve had no right to make decisions for him.

Steve and Bucky were in this together, for better or for worse. And if Beth was to be their protector, some introductions were in order. “Sit,” he ordered, and Beth obeyed immediately, her tongue lolling out on one side of his mouth and basically looking up at Steve with hearts in her eyes. She looked like a moscow watchdog when she rushed to the room, but by now she was more of an english bloodhound by appearance. “Beth, this is Bucky. Bucky, meet Elisabeth. She’ll be guarding us on our way, apparently.”

Bucky looked from Steve to the hound and then back, and held out a hand after the hesitation, and Beth gave him a paw with an expression that could only be described as a grin. _“Shapeshifter?”_ Bucky asked warily.

Steve shrugged. “Adaptable breed,” he said, not paying particular attention to the transformation in front of him, as he had seen it enough times when the girls were oscillating between him and Peggy, before they decided which one of them was the pack leader and therefore the one to please with their dashing looks. He hoped the animals he freed at the beginning of their fight with the Hunt were as good as Beth, though he doubted it. The horses were probably smart enough to go to the far neighbor who tended them when Steve wasn’t available for some reason, but he had doubts about the goats and especially the chickens.

At least they didn’t end up as dinner for Hunthounds, though. That was a comforting thought, and the most he could’ve done in the situation.

Natasha didn’t let him stay lost in his thoughts for long, though: she thrust a piece of paper into his hands. “Okay, then. There’s a gateway to the Summer Lands at this address. I’m not sure what guards it, but I’m not worried about you two getting killed by gatekeepers. Your pursuers are another matter, so if I were you, I’d get in as soon as possible, before they find a way to you.”

“Thank you,” was all Steve was able to say. Natasha rolled her eyes, but patted his hands affectionately. Steve understood both reactions – he just made himself even more indebted to her by admitting his gratitude out loud. He didn’t particularly mind – he and Nat had a rich history of doing favors for each other anyway.

They didn’t have a history of affection shown openly, though, so Steve figured he surprised her by pulling her close and giving a one-armed hug and kissing her temple. He did it cautiously of course, open for the chance of rejection, but Natasha smiled, wide and gleeful, and didn’t struggle against the hold at all. Bucky’s surprised yelp in his head was a decent added bonus.

She took her revenge by kissing goodbye to Bucky on his lips.

Steve was pretty sure Bucky could feel Steve’s flare of over-the-top protectiveness and the sudden urge to punch something clear as daylight, and probably that was Natasha’s point to begin with, based on her smug grin as she sideeyed Steve right after. The fact that Bucky was beaming too didn’t help at all.

“See you soon,” Natasha said, and left after accepting one last lick on her hand from Beth.

Coulson took her place, if only to lead them out, politely chatting about the weather while doing so. Steve and Bucky didn’t really engage with him in conversation, so he mostly explained the forecast to the dog (wearing an enormous beagle’s form this time), who trotted back and forth between the three of them, her tail wriggling frantically all the way.

They went on a different route, that was all Steve could tell, mixing familiar corridors and totally foreign ones with known streets and hidden alleys he never saw before. It probably took a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, he wasn’t sure, before Coulson stopped and faced them one more time. Beth immediately settled at Steve’s feet, leaning against his tights.

“It was a pleasure to meet you. Captain, Soldier, Guardian,” Coulson nodded to all, including Beth as well. “I’m not in any way, shape or form capable of helping you in your quest, but I’m obliged to share that there are already rumors circling about you among the fairyfolk. They’re quite contradictory, but some speculations can hit close to the truth. When you plan your actions, take this into account as well.” He nodded once more, then turned his back and got going before Steve had a chance to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! I somehow forgot an A/N in the chapter when posted, I've edited it out by now but if you've seen it, I'm terribly sorry.


	10. The Summer Lands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top Ten Things to do on Your Trip to the Summer Court:  
> The all-knowing sphinx is a must-see!  
> Connect with old co-workers, introduce the new people in your life!  
> Crash your ex-boss's house!  
> All this and so much more!
> 
> (Chapter summary by notasgeekyasidlike.)

They reached the address without incident.

Bucky, out in the human world from the in-between limbo of Natasha’s home, wore his mask again, and Steve almost itched to try take it off of him, despite knowing the mechanics of the appliance and how impossible his urge was. But he missed Bucky’s steadfast presence in his mind, the light weight he got so used to in the last couple of days, and the homely conversations they could’ve had without the struggle of using sign language or any other spoken methods.

But it was for the best. It was for safety, and to comfort Bucky – at least Steve supposed the latter, without any proper evidence, but he knew just enough about so-called coping mechanisms. They were about to enter the Summer Kingdom, a place where Bucky would normally only be allowed with a formal invite even without banishment. It was no wonder that he felt anxious about going there not only uninvited, but with a death sentence upon him for entering Fae Lands at all.

Of course, if things went south, they could always fight. They were warriors, trained and hardened in combat. But Steve wasn’t going to kill his kind if he could help it, and them doing their duties – even if that duty was to go against them in a non-lethal way – was not a good enough reason. He wasn’t worried about Bucky either, he had shown his ethics multiple times already, and he wasn’t bloodthirsty or vengeful. So all Steve had to do was to make sure they got a chance to talk to Tony directly. Easy. He figured that was only a three-step operation.

***

Step one, get into the kingdom. Evening had settled by the time they arrived at the address Natasha gave them.

The gate was surprisingly unassuming. Or maybe that was the point, Steve didn’t know. Before his expulsion he always used the main paths, plain and simple, because he could and because he was too much of a public figure to do otherwise.

The address was an ordinary house in the suburban area. The neighborhood was as boring as one can be, white picket fence and two point five kids average in every one-floored house, with occasional pets here and there. This particular property had a nice garden, flourishing and alive, which wasn’t a surprise if an entrance to the Lands was currently held open here.

“I’m not even surprised,” Bucky signed as they walked up on the stoned sideway to the entrance, following Steve’s suit with a frown on his face.

“Well, no one expects intruders from among the soccer moms, I guess,” Steve shrugged. He was at the front door by then, holding his hand out for the doorknob, when Beth bolted forward, positioning herself between the door and Steve.

Steve frowned.

Bucky’s mask disappeared and the mental connection slipped into place instead, revealing him scanning their surroundings cautiously. He didn’t use magic, just sharpened his senses to their full extent, tilting his head a little to catalogue the origin of every sound in the vicinity. Steve closed his eyes, and while he mapped Bucky’s input, he inhaled deeply.

The door didn’t smell like Summer at all, and Bucky got to the same conclusion a moment later, only with noises and visual input. To all appearances, it was an ordinary door to an ordinary house in an ordinary town.

But it was the address Natasha gave them, and Natasha never made mistakes, especially not this sort of mistake. It was _information_ , the thing she was best at.

Beth whined, and Steve could swear from the look she gave them that she was judging them. ' _I have to do everything for you idiots,_ ' Steve imagined her saying. She moved away from being a live blockade and started to lope toward the backyard.

Steve and Bucky followed, until they stood in front of the shed.

The door smelled like sunflowers and hummed. “Okay then,” Steve said, suddenly nervous, and about to backtrack. Going back home alone was one thing. Bringing a banished Winter Soldier with him, like a bachelor presenting a newfound, slightly murderous fiancé was quite another. No, he wouldn’t stop now, but a moment of hesitation was surely not a crime…

Bucky choked. _“Like a fiancé?”_ he repeated, incredulous, shattering all Steve’s thoughts as he realized his own metaphor. He immediately blushed and his ears wriggled shyly.

 _“Uhm,”_ he thought, and smacked himself mentally for the expressive vocabulary. He opened the door instead of elaborating, and Bucky cut the connection again, facing the entrance with mask on and hands close to his weapons.

Instead of gardening tools or dust and storage, they saw a bright green field. Instead of the growing shadows of the night, the field was bathed in warm sunlight that gave a yellowish tint to everything, and the air was so heavy with the smell of flowers and _life_ that Steve had to stop for a while, just dizzily inhaling it. Bucky swallowed behind him, his posture tensing up, and even without looking back Steve knew he was sizing up the clearing, looking for escape routes and possible threats.

Well, they didn’t have to go far for the latter, at least. The field was mostly deserted, except for a creature lying comfortably among the flowers, who barely looked at them when the door opened up, but straightened up immediately as they stepped through it.

Beth glided forward again, planting all four paws steadily as she stepped between Steve and the creature. Despite the situation Steve suddenly felt secured and protected, with two trustworthy allies in front of and behind him. It was a comfortable knowledge, not new yet not fully formed beforehand, and if his home weren’t doing the job already, this alone would have warmed his soul.

He focused on the creature in front of them again. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female, its face androgynous enough to be either or both. Below the humanoid head there stood the body of a lion, strong and graceful, with wings sprouting from its back. It didn’t attack them immediately after they entered, which was a wonderful start compared to Steve’s expectations when he tried to imagine the guards of the gate.

A sphinx was not a good scenario, but not a bad one either, because they only attacked under particular circumstances. But when they did, they were absolutely lethal, so. It was better to avoid those circumstances in the first place.

Which… usually meant answering the sphinx’s riddle correctly.

Honestly, Steve would’ve chosen a pack of wendigos over a sphinx, any day.

He resisted the urge to grab his sword when the creature leaned forward with a smile. “Well, well, well,” it said, looking from one another, its golden eye sparkling with amusement, then settled back and crossed one paw above the other in front of itself.

Bucky stepped next to Steve, not quite touching their shoulders together, but close enough that they felt each other’s movements, if not by anything else than by their temperature difference. Beth ruffled the hair on her whole body, which resembled a grey-furred alaskan malamute this time, probably to counter the bright golden colors of the other summer creature in front of her.

hey waited. Steve knew not to speak first in the presence of a riddler, and Bucky seemed to be on the same page. Steve wished he would get rid of that fucking mask – it would be easier to deal with any situation with an open communication link that didn’t require looking at each other and using their hands, but he also understood why Bucky didn’t let his face be seen. Hiding his identity for as long as possible was also a wise decision in the long run.

The sunshine was so strong it made every contour sharper, the shadows deeper and the colors brighter than anything in the human world. The breeze was warm too, flowing over them like a gentle caress. A wasp – or something that looked very similar to a thing that could be called a wasp – buzzed away, not paying them any attention. Everything seemed eerily calm, and Steve hoped it could stay like this and not turn into a crazy fight to the death.

And lo and behold, the sphinx spoke first.

“Eight of us go forth, not back, to protect our king from an attack. What are we?”

Steve bit his lower lip and took a deep breath. He knew the rules: he should answer the creature correctly or prepare to be eaten. Or prepare to fight, since he didn't plan on being eaten. He also knew he had an infinite amount of time to come up with the answer, as long as he stayed in his spot and did not try entering the realm without permission.

Beth sat down, still showing his fangs to the creature threateningly, but also ready to bide her time until the action.

Honestly, he wondered, who came up with the idea to use sphinxes as gatekeepers first. Who thought it was a valid strategy to let the ones in who are cunning enough to answer a damned riddle and get rid of the others. Who.

Not like it was the right time to figure _that_ question out. He had a riddle to come up with an answer for first. He looked at Bucky, but Bucky stared back at him blank, not even trying to look like he had the slightest idea what to say. Okay then. Steve repeated the riddle again and again in his head. _Eight. Go forth. Protection. King. Things, not people. Never go back. Eight. To protect. What are they?_

The Royal Guard, at least the inner circle, didn’t have eight members at a time.

And of course, his thoughts immediately wandered toward Tony, but who said it was the Summer King? Like, there were other kings out there in the world as well. Human ones, even, though he doubted a sphinx would reference one of them. Or at any living person at all, when the question was asked as _what_ , not as _who_ , this was clearly not about any specific person and…

“Chess!” Steve roared triumphantly. “Chesspieces, the eight pawns on the board, can’t step backwards, only forth!”

The sphinx smiled and nodded, but the enigmatic expression never wavered from its face.

Steve stepped forward.

Beth growled as a warning. The sphinx struck out with one paw, almost lazily, the movement seeming harmlessly slow, yet it somehow defied the laws of time and physics and it was impossibly swift as well. Steve was pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to dodge in time if it were aimed at him, not at the air in front of him.

“What?” he squealed. “We’ve answered the question! This means safe passage through the gate you’re guarding!”

He knew the rules. The rules were ancient and constant – he wasn’t away long enough for _those_ to change.

“Three want in, three riddles it is,” the sphinx answered, this time with a catlike purr in its voice. “One mistake strikes one down, two can still enter.”

Steve sighed and stepped back to his initial place. That… made sense. Sadly. “Can’t we get a discount, since we’re together?” he tried anyway because, well, he was himself.

The sphinx didn’t even answer with anything else than a fulminatory look. It looked at them long and hard, and Bucky remained very still while Beth and even Steve squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of that gaze.

“What can so easily be broken yet never be spoken?” it asked finally.

That was easy. Maybe they really got a discount, because it was a riddle known even among humans, a common and widely interpreted little question, one that Steve knew the answer immediately for, and even Bucky smartened up next to him. Steve didn’t wait for him to speak though.

“Silence,” he said.

Bucky rolled back on his heels, a muscle twitching in the corner of his eye.

The creature nodded, its eyes turning to Bucky for a moment, then back to Steve again.

“I am given and I am taken. I was there at your first breath. You didn’t ask for me, but I’ll follow you till your death. What am I?”

Steve stared at the sphinx and his mind blanked out, probably at the worst possible moment, because all he was able to think was an infinite amount of _what the hell._ Which wasn’t helpful at all. He cleared his throat.

“Would you repeat it, please?” Not because he needed to hear it again to memorize it, but to force his thoughts to grab onto the words and spin them around instead of being affronted that he had to deal with this bullshit of a game. The creature stalled for a few seconds, like it enjoyed the sight of clear misery in front of it, then did as Steve asked.

 _Given and taken_ , Steve thought, and dismissed that part of the riddle. It was too vague to draw conclusions from. What about the second information? Who is—no. _What_ is with you from birth to death. The creature didn’t ask about a person, but a thing. Maybe not even a palpable one. A concept, maybe? Life itself? No, life didn’t just _follow_ people.

Steve groaned.

Magic?

No, that wasn’t universal enough for this riddle. Here he was as a counterexample.

Steve groaned again loudly, rubbed his forehead and clenched his fists in frustration. He wondered what would happen if he attacked the sphinx. Him and Bucky and Beth together might be able to overpower it, right? Not like Steve _wanted_ to fight it, he didn’t want to fight anyone or anything especially not in Summer territory, but that didn’t exclude the possibility that he might have to.

He startled when Bucky touched his arm, eyes sliding to the spot where Bucky’s cool was a moment ago, only to get startled again when Bucky intertwined their fingers.

The mental connection snapped to place like it never been gone to begin with.

 _“Name,”_ Bucky said, his tone gentle as he stroked Steve’s palm with his thumb. _“The answer is the person’s name.”_ He tried to retract his hand as soon as the information was transferred, but Steve grabbed it and didn’t let go.

Bucky’s calm, however forced it was, was a gift right now, but more so was his closeness.

Steve lifted their hands to his face. _“You sure about that?”_

Bucky spared a glance at the sphinx, patiently waiting for their answer, only the slight twitching of its tail betraying that it maybe wasn’t as chill as it looked.

 _“This answer meets every criteria of the riddle, so even if it’s not what the sphinx wanted to hear, we can still argue ourselves out of the situation unharmed. But I think it is. Fits the theme, at least,”_ Bucky stared ahead and his expression remained blank, revealing nothing about the conversation they were having.

_“Theme?”_

_“Yeah, the riddles seem to be relevant to us, personally,”_ Bucky confirmed what Steve was also starting to suspect. _“Remember Nat used the chess metaphor too? We’re pieces on a board game of politics. And silence, that’s quite pointed, don’t you think?”_

It made sense, and given this insight came from Bucky, Steve didn’t beat himself up too much for not spotting it first. Or for still not quite seeing the point of what Bucky was saying. _“So how does ‘name’ fit here?”_

 _“The mindcontrol,”_ Bucky said, and even mentally it was quiet and hesitant and somehow broken, like just thinking about it hurt him. Steve’s anger flared up immediately. _“Nat had this theory - she thinks they were and are able to control me through my True Name. That they somehow ingrained it into a brainwashing protocol of some sorts.”_

 _“Shit.”_ Well. What he was thinking was way more colorful than that, but Steve was pretty sure he managed to project only the one swear word to Bucky’s mind and held back everything else. _“But how could a sphinx know about that?”_

 _“Why are you asking me? It’s your Court, not mine.”_ Both Bucky’s voice and gaze were flat and unimpressed and, okay, Steve couldn’t blame him for it.

The sphinx sighed in front of them, grabbing their attention.

Bucky’s hand slipped out of Steve’s, the mental connection faded away as the mask reappeared, and Steve slowly lowered his own hand to face the creature again. He couldn’t help but pout and send a nasty look to his Summerkin. “Name,” he said, and was proud of himself because his voice was neutral and even despite his emotions. “The answer is the person’s name.”

The sphinx stood up and stretched its wings, swung its tail. Straightening up like this it was at least three feet taller than Steve. “Correct again,” it announced, and leaned down a bit, to get on eye level with him. “I am most pleased to greet you in Summer Lands again, Steve Rogers. Take care of your guest and enjoy your stay,” it said, its golden eyes never wavering through the words, not even for a blink, like it tried to say something more, like the words should have a deeper meaning than the empty politeness they were.

If that was the case, Steve didn’t get the message.

But maybe the sphinx was an asshole and just liked the idea of confusing him even more. Fey loved playing games like that, and even when their own rules tied their hands, Summer Fey especially always looked out for opportunities to cause some mayhem.

Steve sighed again. Now, here at home, surrounded by Summer magic that he somewhat detected but couldn’t use, after the first encounter with his kind in a very long time, he realized how much he missed this. The predictable unpredictableness. The controlled chaos. The constant need to stay sharp and alert. It was like meeting Bucky all over again: made his heart pump stronger and his blood run fiercer in his veins, a refreshing change after time spent without much excitement.

Yeah, he definitely turned lazy in the human world where he, as an immortal fey, was an unchallenged apex predator. But at home he was among other sidhe, not only as good as him but who had advantages over him. He had to level up his game again.

_Pawns? I think the fuck not._

He was going to be at least the Knight he was before, if not more.

***

The fact was, Summer Lands were huge. Enormous tracts of forests, meadows, streams and lakes, settlements of different creatures scattered around in a kingdom that was probably just as big as the humans’ world, though Steve had never had the pleasure to see a map that could accurately represent the funky magical loopholes that were Fey Land’s geography. While it often seemed completely normal and ordinary to the traveler, it was, always, far from it: neither time nor space worked just like it did for mortals, and that was just the beginning of the problems.

Steve, as a warrior, knew very little of the mechanics – the science, so to speak – behind it, but he knew a lot about the practicalities. He knew how to spot when space wrinkled around them, he knew how to keep track of their course and avoid getting stuck in a loop, he knew how to notice others while on the road and how to avoid them if necessary. He basically knew how to avoid messing with the Lands and he knew how to shortcut his way through it.

Bucky, though he wasn’t familiar with the Summer tricks, knew the generalities just as well as Steve did, and Beth with her unerring instincts was even better than the two of them combined, so they managed to travel a long while undisturbed and unnoticed.

That was step two in Steve’s plan: get as close to Tony as possible.

Sadly, that also meant that after a while he had to let himself be captured, because that was his best shot to get _close enough_.

Bucky wasn’t pleased with this point of the plan. Steve wasn’t pleased with Bucky’s intention to get caught with him. At least Beth was indifferent on the matter, not knowing about the plans at all, though Steve had a suspicion that she would cause problems when someone put a hand on them. But those were problems for the future.

The trip through the realm was tense and unhappy, but Steve wasn’t here to guide a sightseeing tour anyway.

If they were to survive this, he’d have a better chance to show his home to Bucky afterwards.

***

“You are good,” Bucky signed when they first saw the towers of the Royal Palace in the distance. Steve smiled, remembering their first practice when Bucky used these same signs to express that he was impressed by Steve.

He had managed to sneak them into the very heart of Summer Lands using his knowledge of his home, the patrol routine, the defense system in general and the little known secrets only insiders like him were aware of. At that moment the weight of this actions hit him, and he had to stop abruptly.

He trusted Bucky, he _really_ did.

But in that moment he couldn’t shake off the little sting of doubt that whispered in his ear and heart: _what if you’re wrong._ What if it was a mistake. What if Bucky is not here to help but to harm. What if it’s all part of an evil mastermind’s plan. _What if you brought a hostile agent with you?_

Steve hated himself for thinking like this, but he couldn’t not.

_What if Bucky had deceived him all this time. What if this was the endgame he was hoping for. What if all of it was a trap. What if Steve’s trust was a mistake._

Bucky stepped in front of Steve, forcing him to look, to track the movement, while his heart hammered in his chest and his ears twitched nervously and his palms sweated and his head spun. It was too late to turn back, of course; and too late to change any of his decisions, not like he _wanted_ to change anything, because he trusted Bucky, but there was no safety net under them, no emergency plan to switch to if things were to go sideways.

And things had a nasty habit of going sideways, especially with them.

Bucky shook his head. “Whatever it is, don’t,” he signed, slow and careful and oh-so-precise. “Don’t think about it, don’t work yourself up because it. Please.” Steve watched the words and though it probably wasn’t Bucky’s intention, it helped: Steve’s mind got derailed by the thoughts that Bucky should do signing tutorial videos, with his ability to copy the movements perfectly and perform them flawlessly. He could totally imagine him, in front of a camera: Steve would angle it to him so it would shoot everything at the right height, with the right lighting,  and Bucky would show the signs, one after the other, and maybe Steve could narrate them for him. For some reason instead of human clothes, his mind pictured Bucky as he stood in front of him now: in black armor from head to toe, mask covering his face and magic covering his silver arm under the fabrics, sword and knives at his side and a hound resting at his feet, this time as a german shepherd in appearance.

It was such an absurdly domestic idea in the middle of Fae Lands, on their way to get captured in an attempt to stop a conspiracy against the thrones; Steve had to laugh. Such a strange yet comfortable picture indeed.

He hoped that Bucky at least smiled under the mask, but he couldn’t tell for sure: the corners of Bucky’s eyes were still wrinkled with worry, making it hard to read anything else in his expression.

“There,” he signed nonetheless, “I like it better when you aren’t spiralling down in your own head. We need you to think clear here.”

He didn’t ask what Steve was thinking about, either knowing the answer already, or just suspecting it and not needing the clarification.

There were things that weren’t for sharing, and Steve’s doubts definitely fell into this category. Either because they were true – _oh please don’t let them be true_ – and in this case sharing them wouldn’t help the situation whatesoever; or because they weren’t true and sharing them would only cause heartbreak and hurt.

But they had to be false.

Beth rose to her feet and sniffed the air.

Steve’s laughter faded away as he regulated himself. These thoughts were only born of stress and anxiety. Steve _knew_ Bucky. He _lived_ with Bucky for weeks. He _fought_ side by side with Bucky. He _loved_ Bucky.

Well, maybe that was a counter-argument, as love was always said to cloud judgement, but.

Natasha approved of Bucky and Nat wouldn’t have let Bucky come if she’d had the slightest doubt about his intentions.

“I’m sorry,” Steve signed back, “I was—”

Beth’s warning bark interrupted the movements, whatever they were about to be. Steve was quick, but not quick enough to draw a weapon before they heard another voice.

“Captain?” a woman asked, the word filled with hesitation and caution, and Beth was in front of them again, shielding them from the woman while Steve wanted to rush forward and hug the newcomer.

“Hello Janet,” he smiled, grabbing the fur on Beth’s nape to prevent any lashing out just in case.

Janet, dressed in her red armor and the traditional red and gold cape of the Guardmembers and her wings sticking out behind her, smiled back tentatively and took a step forward, but remained out of immediate reach. Her eyes wandered back and forth between Bucky and Steve and Beth, and she seemed conflicted for a split second, for which Steve couldn’t blame her.

It wasn't everyday routine to catch your former boss in the process of infiltrating your homeland with an enemy of the state, and the human-world analogy didn't even quite fit the awkwardness of the situation.

Then she straightened up. “Captain, Winter,” she said, and her voice got an authoritative tone that wasn’t there before and left no room for argument, “you are under arrest in the name of King Anthony for intruding on our domain uninvited. Drop your weapons immediately.”

They did. Steve ordered Beth to sit, and thank god the dog was well-trained enough to obey even when her instincts told her to do the opposite. Then he methodically stripped himself of his weapons while Bucky did the same, though he wasn’t eager about it. He looked particularly sour when he had to lay his sword down in the grass.

Two fey showed up to collect the weapons – the one who got Bucky’s pile was careful not to touch the sword directly, probably to everyone’s satisfaction. When all was done and no pointy tool left near them, two more fey came around to tie back their hands and put a muzzle on Beth.

For the latter, Steve offered his help, and the fey looked at Janet who nodded her approval. So Steve kneelt in front of Beth and applied the muzzle on her, explaining that it was just a temporary situation and she'll have to endure it for a while. “She'll be allowed to stay with me, right?” he looked up at that point, and Janet nodded again, still not talking directly to Steve. He wanted to thank her, but managed to stop himself in time.

He was in no position to allow mistakes like that. He wasn't going to give anyone leverage over him just by being polite in human standards.

When Steve was done, he stroked Beth's fur once more and petted her forehead, then let his hands be tied behind him while someone else checked the muzzle. He noticed that Bucky's cuffs seemed heavier than his, but didn't mention it, since it was quite understandable.

It was all quick and efficient, and if Steve were in position still, he’d have complimented them for the job well done. Since he wasn’t, he remained silent, but couldn’t help his proud smile.

They were led away in the ring of six armed Summer Fey, none of them familiar to Steve, followed closely by Janet herself. Their march to the palace was uneventful though Steve almost prayed the whole time for this to change. He knew Tony would know about their presence soon enough, Janet would probably report her catch right after she escorted them to their cells, but getting an opportunity to report directly to the King was a tricky thing, as Tony wasn't always up to deal with people. So running into him on the way to their cells was Steve’s best bet to speed up the procedure. Either his prayers were heard or he got lucky, it didn't really matter. It just mattered that Steve got the chance he needed.

They were about to go underground, and as they turned a corner, they had to halt abruptly. Suddenly, Steve was face-to-face with his king as Tony almost collided with the first guard in the line. The corner of Steve's mouth twitched into a half-smile, because this was so Tony. He was either super aware of his surroundings, noticing everything even beyond imagination, or super lost in his own thoughts, barely avoiding walking into walls at times.

Objectively, Tony looked good, which wasn't saying much because Tony always looked good. He was handsome, aristocratic and well-groomed even when he forgot to pay attention to little details like his goatee. By sidhe standards, he was physically short, but the way he held himself, the grace he moved with made everyone forget about that. Also, as Steve liked to say, he wasn't short but _compact_ , incredible strength folded neatly into his lithe form, and sometimes it made him look like his skin was too tight to contain all that raw and simmering power. His chest always glowed with magic, like he embedded a blue star right under his sternum, but it wasn't a star. It was always the King himself.

Steve wasn't really expecting the force of the relief that washed through him to see Tony alive and well.

Not like he expected anything else, but still: it was his responsibility for a very long time to keep watch over his King, and old habits apparently never die.

It took a second for him to tear his eyes from Tony to check the one standing behind him, and he identified the Guard as Sam. He also recognized the star-shaped insignia on Sam's chest, meaning he became the Captain of the Royal Guard after Steve left - just like Steve had advised.

Under any other circumstances he would've paid more attention to this, but right now his focus shifted back to Tony almost immediately, and he didn't miss the moment Tony looked up and started to process his surroundings. Tony's eyes passed over the group of guards, and fell on Steve.

King Anthony of the Summer Court froze mid-motion.

“I'm terribly sorry, Your Majesty,” the one who had almost run into Tony said. Tony waved it off absent-mindedly.

Steve stared, almost drank the sight in. Tony stared back.

It felt like the whole world slowed down just for them.

Tony's face morphed into an unassuming and neutral expression, almost like a man who didn't pay enough attention to be amused by a situation that had the potential to be amusing. He didn't raise an eyebrow, didn't offer a smirk and definitely didn't comment on the turn of the events.

Steve regulated himself as well. He didn't say anything and didn't show how much his heart hammered in his chest and how much he wanted to be at Tony's side again, the urge striking him like lightning.

Then Steve and Bucky got dragged away. Steve kept eye contact as long as he could, craning his neck until he stumbled on the stairs and one of the guards had to catch him to prevent him from falling down.

Tony looked away.

Steve sighed, relaxed, and went where they led him.


	11. SNAFU (Situation Normal: All Fucked Up)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Steve and Bucky are imprisoned. Everything goes according to plan. At least, let's hope so!

The prison of the Summer Court was just as unpleasant as any other prison. The luxury that was such a common trait of the Court was nowhere to be seen here underground. Everything was plain and simple. The walls, the grid that was actually live branches of plants growing from the ground, even the ceiling was strengthened by protective magic and powerful wards.

They got locked up in different cells, obviously, but the guards weren’t putting much effort into separating them because they  put them in three adjacent cells . Steve faked another tumble, which allowed him to position himself so he got into the middle one. Bucky was on his left and Beth on his right – luckily the guards had the decency to get the muzzle off of her before they closed the door on her. Beth  gave an unhappy bark but she understood the situation enough that she didn’t try to bite them.

One soldier hesitated after the others left, looked from Bucky to Steve. “Are you… really the former Captain?” he finally asked, his hands  fidgeting  nervously with his belt like he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

Steve looked at him and stepped right next to the barrier that separated them – the magic coursing through the branches didn’t bother him, but he saw how the boy’s eyes widened. He was young and he apparently hadn’t mastered the art of hiding his emotions quite yet.

“Yeah, I am,” Steve confirmed, and the kid actually  _ gasped _ ; and then hid his hands behind his back.

“Hi. Uhm. Big fan. I mean. I know a lot about you. And you’re great,” he fumbled with words, and Steve had to smile.

“And you are?”

“Scott! Scott La—uhm I’m not sure I’m allowed to even talk to you. But uuuuh, I just wanted to say hi. You were my childhood hero, you know.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Steve said, and may Mother forgive him, he already wondered how could he utilize the starstruck awe in the kid’s eye to his advantage. This wasn’t something he was proud of, but something that was necessary in their line of work, something Scott will learn soon enough.

But before any of them could say another word, the other soldiers yelled for Scott, and he startled so badly he nearly stumbled into an empty cell. “I have to go,” he stated the obvious, but before he turned around, he saluted to Steve.

Not just some lazy, mocking gesture, but a full salute, one for a Captain, not for a prisoner or an expelled courtmember. Then he disappeared.

Steve was pretty sure the kid didn’t even realize this gesture could’ve been interpreted as treason.

He sat down, his heart simultaneously fluttering like a dying bird and roaring to the skies triumphantly. Well, he did something right, if innocent kids like Scott still respected him and his title, after more than a century had passed. He leaned his back to the grid of branches, sighed, and steered his thoughts back to the situation at hand.

Okay, step two done. Tony definitely knew about them.

Now they had to wait for him to come. Steve prepared himself for an uneventful wait, but as soon as he closed his eyes, he heard movements from Bucky’s side, so he opened them again.

Bucky knelt in the middle of his cell and pulled a little box out of the air. Steve recognized the box they got from Natasha. He blinked. “I don’t think you’ll find anything useful in there, pal,” he said, though he wasn’t sure. He never checked what was in there – didn’t even see the thing since Bucky accepted it and apparently stuffed it somehow to carry it without actually carrying it.

Steve rarely get jealous of magic users, but when they pulled little tricks like this, he just had to wonder how much easier his life could be with convenient pocket dimensions and stuff.

“I think you’re wrong,” Bucky signed, and showed something to Steve.  It didn't help much. Steve wasn’t familiar with the tiny tools and he had no idea what Bucky would possibly want to build in his cell that could—oh.

Bucky crouched down in front of the cell door, careful not to touch the branches that served as bars, and got to work. Steve observed, amused, watching Bucky’s long fingers picking the lock and the subtle movements of his ears as he let his hearing guide his hands. It took only a few minutes until the lock released with a click and Bucky tossed the door open.

Steve wondered if anyone had ever tried to pick the locks before, and realized it must be the first time, or it would have been harder .  Fey were so used to depending on their magic, such a mundane solution had probably never occurred to anyone. Steve had to grin.

Bucky repeated the procedure with Beth’s cell, then he went for Steve’s.

Once open, he ushered Beth inside, got after her and closed the door behind himself, careful again not to actually touch anything with bare skin, using his silver hand when absolutely necessary.

Steve cleared his throat. “Uhm, the exit is that way,” he pointed to the stairs they came down half an hour earlier.

Bucky slipped closer and let his mask retract as he reached for Steve’s hand.  _ “I’m not breaking out,” _ he clarified, though that much was obvious already.  _ “I just wanted to get a little more comfortable as we wait.” _

Steve opened up his legs and Bucky nested himself between them, also pulling up his knees and propping his back to Steve’s chest, and pulled Steve’s arms around himself in a comfortable embrace. Beth curled up around them, english bloodhound again in appearance, so their feet were blessedly warm.

Though the Summer Court wasn't lacking in warmth – even the sub-level prison basement was heated, the air thick but dry.

_ “Not like I’m complaining, but why are you so comfortable with staying imprisoned here exactly?” _

Bucky tipped his head back so he could look at Steve from the corner of his eye.  _ “I mean, we’re right where we wanted to be, aren’t we? We even ran into the King and you exchanged those meaningful looks like you were reading each other’s minds the whole time.” _

_ “Huh.” _ Steve wasn’t aware those qualified as meaningful looks. He was pretty sure both him and Tony had managed to be subtle about it.

_ “You weren’t,”  _ Bucky stated, then shrugged.  _ “Also, I know you by now. I can tell when you're trying to hide something.” _

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained silent, and instead of words he let himself feel. He rarely allowed himself the freedom to just  _ be _ , to enjoy the moment, but Bucky was right – they were in position, with nothing  else to to but wait . So for once, he let go of his worries, his plans, his concerns – he nuzzled Bucky’s neck, inhaled his fresh-and-hard-and-clear Winter smell, enjoyed the texture of Bucky’s clothes and then the skin under his fingers as he slipped his hand under the armor.

It didn’t allow much space for naughtiness, and the time and place definitely wasn’t right for anything of the sort, but it wasn’t his intention anyway: Steve flattened his palm against Bucky’s stomach, enjoying the feeling, the play of muscles as Bucky breathed, tensed, and relaxed under his hand.

It was overwhelming, how much he loved Bucky, and to know without doubt it was reciprocated was as intoxicating as even the finest Summer wine couldn’t be. Steve closed his eyes and let them feel it, let the emotions gently rock them back and forth in the embrace, as Steve shielded Bucky from the magic  in the walls around them with his body and Bucky shielded him from the whole damn world in front of them.

_ “You really love me,”  _ Bucky said, amused, surprised, maybe even shocked.

_ “Why wouldn’t I,” _ Steve thought helplessly and buried his face deeper into Bucky’s neck, to avoid thinking about anything else, anything behind the question, why would Bucky find it shocking that someone loved him, how could Steve  _ not _ love him, how—

_ “It’s real,” _ Bucky sounded like he was tasting the words for the first time even in his own mind.  _ “I’m not just a replacement or anything. You really feel these things toward me and not someone else.” _

He had to lift his head to look at Bucky, but Bucky’s eyes were closed as his head lolled back on Steve’s shoulder.

_ “What do you mean?”  _ Steve asked again.

_ “It’s not Peggy,” _ Bucky said.  _ “I thought you were just… you missed loving someone. Not a particular one, but anyone. Or you missed your home and I was just there to pour these feelings into.” _ Bucky explained, slowly,  like he had just now come to this realization himself, and was afraid that giving voice to it would change something between them .  _ “But it’s not. They’re really for me.” _

_ “You’re so dumb.”  _ Steve tightened his hold around Bucky.  _ “They were always for you,” _ he said.  _ “I never mixed you up with anyone.” _ His words were firm and final – he couldn’t possibly compress all of his emotions in them, so he didn’t even try. But they held the fatality of a death wound, and that was alright – Steve was alright with that.  _ “I see you, Bucky. I’ve always tried to see you, from the first day.” _

Bucky swallowed, and turned his head to give a kiss – just a light peck on Steve’s lips, really, they should move to another position for anything more in-depth than that – and closed his eyes again.  _ “Yeah. You saw me.”  _ Bucky’s words held more resignation than joy.  _ “You’re the only one who saw me for who I am since the beginning. And now we’re in this mess because of it,” _ he added the last sentence with a mirthless laugh.

Steve patted him.  _ “Really? Because of you? I thought I was the stubborn bastard who insisted on coming here and warning Tony.” _

_ “Oh yeah,” _ Bucky agreed with a smirk.  _ “That too.” _

***

The lights intensifying around them should’ve given away Tony’s arrival, but Bucky wasn’t familiar with this  phenomenon  and Steve didn’t pay enough attention to his surroundings. He was safe and secured in a magically reinforced cell, so he could allow himself this little luxury of relaxation, and Bucky followed suit, resting while he could. They even had a little dinner (or lunch?) in there, because despite the fact that they were searched when captured, Bucky managed to sneak most of his possessions in. ( _ “They searched for weapons, they got the weapons,” _ he explained with a shrug to Steve’s query.)

But it meant both of them startled when Tony cleared his throat on the other side of the cell door.

“Well,” he said,  peering into the cell , “this isn’t what I expected when I came here.”

Bucky studied the ground in front of him like he had just discovered something thrilling there.  The mask slipped into place immediately, as it usually did when he felt insecure. Beth raised her head, yawned at the King, and changed her position slightly to rest her head back on both paws instead of just one.

Steve looked up at Tony. “Sorry to disappoint,” he smirked.

“It’s not like I mind,” Tony waved, “but I’m pretty sure you should be in different cells.”

Steve shrugged, not elaborating the logistics. Tony squinted at him. “Okay, spill it, who’s going to die.”

Steve swallowed hard. This was the part three he had been waiting for. His chance to warn, to explain, to offer his help. He imagined it countless times since he had decided to go on this mission, and yet right now he felt like a nervous kid, not sure how to manage himself. He needed Tony to believe them, he needed his friend more than he needed his King right now, and somehow this made everything more awkward, because Tony was already in King-mode, his mind  already focused on solving the problem he didn’t even know about yet .

Steve wished he could’ve had a little more time before it happened, and felt ashamed for this wish.

Then he shook himself, both mentally and physically. Being embarrassed was pointless,  and he wasn't going to waste time on it when he had a mission to fulfill. He gently pushed at Bucky, urged him to stand up.

“I’m here to warn you about a conspiracy, and to ask for your forgiveness,” Steve said, and though his words weren’t exactly formal, his tone was.

“My forgiveness?” Tony seemed taken aback for a split second, then smirked. Like he always did when he wanted to have more time to analyze a situation. Steve knew him and his methods all too well to fall for the charm. “I don’t know about anything that should be forgiven. Did I miss something?”

Steve was on his feet, Bucky still not looking up next to him and not following him a step behind when he walked to the wall that separated them from Tony.

“I had abandoned my duties for a mortal and you were generous enough to dismiss me from your service.” Steve’s voice was soft and quiet. “I ask you to lift my punishment and let me serve you again.”

Tony stepped closer, completely unbothered by the spells a few inches away from his body and  the two dangerous prisoners in his immediate vicinity .

“I thought you were aware your expulsion was more of a formality than anything else,” he said. “I did it because that’s how I could grant your wish to be with your mortal. All you ever had to do was  _ ask _ and you’d have been right here at my side the very next day.” He turned his gaze to Bucky. “Instead you decided the best course of action was to kill my gatekeepers, show up in the heart of the kingdom with a Winter Fey in tow and get arrested. Honestly, Steve, people say I’m dramatic, but I’m nothing compared to you.”

“This isn’t a matter that could be safely discussed through messengers or letters. We needed an excuse to talk to you without being suspicious.”

Tony seemingly thought it through, then nodded. “Well, it kind of... works? Even though you’re not subtle and never were, you were kind of expected here for a long while, so people won’t assume any more underlying intentions behind your presence than you wanting to finally come home.” Steve nodded, too. Fey who got kicked out of Courts one way or another tended to fade away, and they often tried to find a way back before that happened - sometimes only after they gone mad because of the craving. Him lasting this long exclusively on mortal lands wasn’t exactly normal. But, as Natasha pointed out, he was never normal to begin with and just got weirder with time and experience.

“So you being here is justified, but an Unseelie is still quite an unexpected twist.”

Bucky, feeling their gazes on him, lifted his head slightly, but he made sure his eye level didn’t wander higher than the blue glow on Tony’s chest. For a moment he remained  utterly still , then he bowed, in a fluid and elegant and practiced way, performing the gesture that was appropriate for acknowledging his subordinate place in the presence of a Royal.

It was a bit odd to Steve, given that once Bucky also counted as a Royal. Tony however accepted the gesture with a simple nod.

“Your Majesty,” Bucky signed, and Steve knew this expression was in Bucky’s sign language vocabulary for this exact meeting, “I would like to offer information for you.”

Steve expected that Tony wouldn’t understand sign language, so both him and Bucky startled when instead of confusion, Tony just raised an eyebrow. “What kind of information?” he asked.

Steve stared.

Tony smirked. “Oh come on, don’t be so surprised. We’re in my Kingdom.”

That didn't explain anything, but okay.

Bucky glanced at Steve, then signed again, faster this time. “I was a participant in a conspiracy that I want to stop.”

“Involuntarily participant,” Steve added quickly.

“That’s not the point,” Bucky signed.

“Yeah it is. First second and third point, at least. Also it proves that the conspiracy i nvolves both Courts , so it’s also important strategically, not just morally,” Steve shrugged.

“Stop making this about me when we’re here to prevent an assassination,” Bucky signed with frustration.

“I have my priorities,” Steve said as dignified as he could.

“Boys,” Tony interjected, and both of them whipped their heads to him. For a moment Steve had kind of forgotten that Tony was there. “I appreciate you acting like a married couple, good job disrespecting both Courts by the way, but if you’re not here for a Royal blessing on your match, let’s focus on the conspiracy. Does someone wants to kill me yet again? It gets older every time they try.”

“Yeah, not exactly you.” Steve’s mind finally started kick into gears, remembering what Tony had said a few minutes earlier. He frowned. “Wait a minute. What are the charges against us exactly?”

“Well, so far it goes to suspected assassination attempt on me, infiltrating the Summer Lands and killing the gatekeepers. I guess there will be more if you have to ask that.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look. “Less, actually,” Steve said. “We didn’t kill the gatekeeper.”

Tony tilted his head slightly, waiting for elaboration.

“The door we used was guarded by a sphinx. We answered the riddles and got into the Lands without drawing our weapons. Last time we saw, the sphinx was alive and well. There were no other guards – I made sure to avoid everyone, not wanting confrontation.”

Tony’s frown mirrored Steve’s. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me, even if you were able to,” he mused, “but this still presents the problem of four massacred griffins at one of the hidden gates. If you didn’t kill them, who did?”

Bucky lifted his hands hesitantly. “I’m sorry,” he started. “If someone reported our capture, they might be coming after me.”  Both Steve and Tony turned their full attention on him , and instead of making him more anxious, Bucky seemed somehow calmer under the weight of their gaze.

He looked at Steve. “Might be easier if I show, instead of tell,” he signed. “I’m ready to show you everything I can.”

Steve shivered at the implication. Bucky hadn’t ever offered such an insight to him before – and now, whether out of necessity or because he wanted others to know, he did. It wasn’t personally directed to Steve, or to Tony, but at the same time it was. Not even the most dire necessity would made someone offer complete insight into their head without trusting them first.

And Bucky not only offered it to Steve, but to Tony as well, and he had no other reason to trust the Summer King than that Steve trusted him completely.

“Tony, I ask your permission.” He didn’t take his eyes off of Bucky, though. He watched as Bucky made the mask draw back from his face and lifted the charm that hid his arm under the disguise of natural skin. “Please let me make a mental connection between the three of us.”

“Excuse me?” Tony sounded affronted. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Very much not,” Steve said with fake cheer. “I have a constant mental link between me and Bucky, and we once had quite a practice with you, so it might be a bit taxing, but not unmanageable.” He popped that information out like it wasn’t a big deal at all, but it really was. Steve’s palms sweated as he anxiously waited for a reply.

It being a very big deal was proved by the fact that even Tony was speechless for a good while after the announcement. Then, when Steve thought his heart might drum out of his ribcage if he had to wait one more second, Tony laughed.

It was a genuine sound, bubbling up from the stomach and consuming the whole  _ room  _ around them, making the lights shine twice as bright and Steve felt the urge to laugh with it, to pull it around himself like a blanket and snuggle with it, to consume it like the best kind of feast.

“Oh my,” Tony had to wipe his eyes. “Steve, buddy, you really know how to piss off everyone.”

Steve had no idea what to answer, still a bit muddle-headed by the effect of the laugh, so he just shrugged shyly.

“Okay, now you made me too curious about this Prince to refuse your offer. Good job.”

Bucky froze at the mention of the title.

“Oh yeah, I knew who you were from the beginning, Soldier,” Tony smirked. “You are quite hard to miss, I must say.”

Steve didn’t want to deal with that information right now, so he just reached through the bars. He ignored the slightly ticklish sensation as the wards tried to cling to him unsuccessfully,  and offered one hand to Tony, and one hand to Bucky, palms up .  It was just a formality: he knew both of them would accept the offered hands . What wasn’t just a gesture was the fact that he still needed the physical connection to form this mental link between them.

Thank Mother it was the two people who were the closest to him, so Steve had high hopes of not passing out afterwards.

But it was necessary. Tony needed to hear everything from Bucky himself, and needed to hear it through a method that  made any kind of lie impossible . In this way,  there couldn't be a single doubt that what Bucky shared was what he believed to be the absolute truth .

Steve closed his eyes and instead of slipping into a memory, like he did with Natasha and Bucky, he mentally stepped back. He made himself insignificant, a secondary thought in the background of his own mind. He tuned down his own emotions and sharpened his senses to the others’; he reached out for their minds and imagined the bridge forming between them, and imagined himself as the middle ground, the pillar of the structure for them.

Bucky’s mind was a familiar, solid presence; cool and calculating all the time, well-structured like a cabinet filled up with files, all labeled and taken care of, assessments slipping in the background like shadows. Tony on the other hand was like a beehive, all buzzing and sparkling thoughts, full of life and what seemed like utter chaos but melted into well-crafted inner system that was barely understandable to anyone else. Steve let both of them wash through him, crash into each other through him as he tuned down the differences in himself.

_ “Your Majesty,” _ Bucky started,  _ “I’m sorry for the loss of your people.” _

_ “Come to the point, Soldier, before I change my mind,” _ Tony cut the polite small-talk before it could start. Bucky audibly sighed into the connection, and opened up the files in his mind, accompanying his words with pictures and memories, offered willingly.

_ When I was chosen to be a Winter Soldier, I wasn’t taken immediately to the castle. I got training – we all did. Training that was supposed to help us fit into our new life and position. In reality, we also got a conditioning – a way to make sure we were loyal… only not to the Crown. I’m not sure about the specifics and the mechanics myself – as you can see, my memories are not the most reliable from that time. _

Steve flinched so hard he almost let go of their hands, but steeled himself. Some of the information was new to him as well, but he had to remain in the background, because it wasn’t about him, no matter how much it angered him to see his love in pain. And he had been in pain, so much pain Steve didn’t understand how his mind was in one piece instead of shattered to a million little ice shards. Bucky resisted - Steve wasn’t surprised to witness him fighting against the intruders in his head and life, he didn’t expect anything else from the man he had gotten to know, but it still broke him a little bit inside.

_ I’m not sure if all the other Winter Soldiers were conditioned like me, or just a few of them, or how many more fey beyond us. But by now I realized that they needed us to be loyal to them – so when they get into power, they can use us as their puppets on the throne while they could remain in the shadows, controlling everything from behind the curtains. I suspect my brothers who died were the ones who they failed to control completely – I have no evidence, of course. _

The strong grief was almost sickening as Bucky catalogued the siblings who he had lost – in hunting accidents, by fighting each other or by the hand of lesser Winterfolk who were quickly executed afterwards. Steve forced himself through it and held the connection open and steady.

_ They call themselves Hydra. The head of them is someone from the Winter Court, but they must have strong allies in your Court as well to be able to mess with our heads so deeply. Mental magic is the forte of your people, Your Majesty, and they were the best at it. _

The pain again was almost unbearable as Bucky showed some examples of what happened to him, and it was made even worse by how ashamed Bucky was. Steve could’ve understand if it were about him feeling sorry that fey like this existed, but Bucky felt shame for going through these torments and not coming out triumphantly on the other end. Bucky was ashamed of losing, even in a situation where winning was clearly impossible – he still thought it was his fault, for not being stronger or more resistant. Which was utter bullshit because he was here and if that wasn’t triumph then nothing was. But again, Steve had to remain silent. For now. Just for now.

_ Somehow they made a mistake. Their grip on me started to loosen. So they had to get rid of me, and indeed I ended up banished for a crime I still don’t know if I committed. _

Those were, at least, familiar memories, since Steve had seen them before.

_ They’ve been after me since then. They chased me through the mortal realms. I got used to hiding from them, and I had people to help me regain myself a bit. _

Natasha, if only for a brief moment, showed up in the memory dump, but Bucky clearly didn’t want to detail her involvement, so he skipped as soon as he dared, elaborating instead how he had chosen not to speak after a while in order to not reveal himself, not hiding the fact that it also meant he had to give up using his magic completely. The last time he willingly and consciously used his powers was when he forged his own mask.

_ Hydra is high-ranking enough that they were able to derail my Queen’s tracking ability, so whenever I slipped up and spoke, they were on my tail. The second to last time it happened, I barely got away, and woke up under your former Captain’s care. _

Steve wasn’t sure Bucky intended to share this much about that incident, but couldn’t say he was disappointed, because finally he knew what had happened that led Bucky to him. In the memory, a kid saw Bucky – and by the look of wide-eyed awe on her face, she really  _ saw _ Bucky, not just some disguise or human appearance – and the little girl was so fascinated she walked right in front of a truck. Bucky didn’t think about it. He leaped forward, grabbed the girl, and teleported them away from the danger using  a single word, but that one word was drenched in  such strong magic that it gave Steve whiplash even through the memory.

_ They wouldn’t be after me if I didn’t know about them. I can’t tell you their names or show you their faces. But the information has to be in my mind.  _ _ There would be a cost, but a professional could extract it. _

Steve suddenly felt dizzy and almost pulled his hand back again, but Bucky’s hold tightened around his fingers. Natasha had dug into Bucky’s mind through a memory to avoid damaging him, but right now Bucky was offering himself up to any and all kinds of examination that a ‘professional’ might deem necessary to twist information out of his mind. It was madness. It was self-destruction through someone else. Steve wanted to say something, but Bucky went on – Bucky begged.

_ You can stop them. Please, Your Majesty. Please stop them. Don’t let them hurt more of my brothers. Please don’t let them hurt my mother. _

Finally, finally Steve felt the tug from Tony’s side of the connection, as Tony metaphorically stepped forward. His never-resting thoughts were like a background buzzing in Steve’s head, easy enough to disregard for now but never quite quiet.

There came the questions, one after the other, in rapid succession. Bucky answered them all to the best of his ability. Steve’s arms started to tremble, like he was physically exhausted by keeping the conversation open and flowing through him, but he stubbornly refused to give into it. This was too important of an opportunity to waste, to let go – Tony had to believe them, Bucky had to have a chance to explain everything, and he had to be strong enough to make it happen. It was plain and simple.

In hindsight, they should’ve at least sat down before they started this, not like Steve felt much of his body anyway. All he sensed was Tony and Bucky, nothing and no one else.

There was a brief pause, and the buzzing in Steve’s head intensified as Tony  considered the whole conversation again. Then he spoke up one more time.

_ I understand you didn’t know this much when you were banished from your home and so you couldn’t do anything against them then. But now that you understood the situation better – why did you come to me, Winter Soldier? Why didn’t you go home and warn your own Queen? _

The question somehow had more weight than the ones before, yet Bucky didn’t hesitate to answer. He showed the fight Steve was too familiar with – the one they fought together, and what happened in the very end.

_ Rumlow called me Queenslayer _ , Bucky said.  _ I wouldn’t risk getting near my Queen after that. _

And suddenly Tony was angry, the bees whizzing more threateningly.

_ Yet you had no problem coming here where MY Queen is. _

Steve’s breath hitched and Bucky’s mind froze.

The bars of the cell were ripped out of their place in the next moment, bent shapeless and thrown behind Tony’s back effortlessly without anyone physically touching them. Dark spots danced on the periphery of Steve’s vision and Bucky gasped for air, and through him Steve knew how other fey experienced Tony: right now he felt him like he was a million suns burning within arm’s reach. He wasn’t sure if it was even survivable, this amount of raw power.

“Pepper would skin you alive if you tried to do anything,” Tony said, both in their heads and out loud, and compared to the magic that was roaring around them his voice almost felt calm.

As much as a storm is calm compared to a hurricane.

“But that won’t happen because if you even think about getting anywhere near her, mindcontrol or not, I’ll burn you, little Prince. Got it?”

Bucky didn’t step back. Steve hoped he would, but of course it didn’t happen – they were all too stubborn for their own good. The force of Tony's power was so intense that it actually hurt, and Steve half-expected to look down and see burns blistering on his skin. Bucky must be feeling it too, since it actually were his senses that allowed Steve this experience, but instead of showing the pain, the Winter Soldier straightened up more in front of the Summer King.

Bucky said something Steve couldn’t understand despite being in a literal mindmeld with him, and it echoed through Steve like he was hearing it twice at the same time: in his mind and in reality too. Then Bucky switched back to intelligible words

_ “I have no malicious intentions towards any Queen, Your Majesty,”  _ he said, and his mental voice was all ice and daggers, cutting through Steve mercilessly as  _ Bucky’s _ power started to rise to counter Tony’s heat.  _ “I came here with the exact opposite goal in my mind and you are threatening me unnecessarily. It’s within your rights if I’m just a Courtless Unseelie, but you addressed me as Prince, King. Act accordingly!” _

This was getting out of hand. Tony had lost it once Pepper got involved, and Bucky wasn't one to submit to threats. He was ready to respect a king, but wasn’t ready to respect an overprotective  _ husband _ , so of course he rose to the challenge. Steve didn’t expect anything else: Bucky was one ready to die for his morals, and Steve knew and accepted that, but this wasn’t necessary at all. This was all just screwed up. 

Tony’s free hand moved, like he was drawing in the air and Bucky singsonged incomprehensible commands in response. 

Steve stood between the hot wrath of Summer and the cold mercilessness of Winter and they clashed through him.

He had no idea how to calm them down – it was enough of a struggle to keep his own sanity under the onslaught of two polar opposite powers in conflict.

“Sir?” someone asked, in the periphery of his senses. The speaker sounded like he was very far away, maybe even underwater, given how strangled his voice was. Steve had the faint idea that he might know the speaker, but had no time to think about that. He had to come up with something to calm Tony and Bucky down, to make them see reason. He had to…

Then his hand slipped, and everything crumbled around him. His blood roared in his ears as the world tipped sideways and his vision shattered into pieces.

When he looked up next he stared at the ceiling of the cell and he saw waves. Well, not exactly waves, because they didn’t move at all, and they remained there, in front of him even if he closed his eyes.

Steve blinked, stunned.

He felt hands on his skin, one cold and one even colder, and realized Bucky was cupping his face. And the weight on his chest, that wasn’t an object either, that was Tony, kneeling on his other side with his palm pressed firmly against Steve's sternum, his touch pulsing gently like a heartbeat.

Steve blinked again.

“Wha—?” he croaked and coughed and realized abruptly that the pattern of the waves burned into his vision was the exact same sight that he had just witnessed, minutes ago, when Tony and Bucky had shown off their powers.

Afterimages, then.

His muscles twitched.

Steve never imagined Bucky to have such powers before, ones that matched the King’s.

Fuck.

His limbs felt like jelly.

His ears popped and sounds came back in a rush.

“—ago, it must be better by now, I know I made you leave my service but I never meant forever, damn you, Cap.”

_ “Steve?” _ Bucky asked, wordlessly, and Steve flinched because even this felt like a hammer on his skull right now, and Bucky sounded so terrified. His flesh hand trembled slightly on his face and though his expression was carefully controlled, now that Steve focused on him he saw the dread in his eyes.

“Fuck,” Steve coughed. “Don’t—” he wheezed, his chest felt tight like he couldn’t breathe properly, “don’t do this ever again.”

“Nah, mate,” someone said, the same voice that called out for them earlier, and the gears in Steve’s head finally kicked back in enough to identify the owner: Sam. “If you pull this shit on us again, I’ll kill you myself a little,” the High Captain of the Royal Guard threatened.

Steve rolled his eyes and noticed with relief that slowly but steadily the waves started to fade from his vision. At least his eyes were not damaged permanently.

Tony’s hand pulsed heat, warming him up.

Bucky’s cold touch grounded him.

The invisible bands around his chest loosened.

Why was Sam here? Since when? Steve didn’t notice his arrival. Steve was careless. That shouldn’t have happened, and yet. He cracked his eyes open – when did he close them? – and looked over at Sam, who stood a few steps away from their trio.

“Why is it my fault when they did it?”

Sam scowled. “I don’t see any of them needing an energy boost just to breathe.”

Oh. 

That explained a lot. Tony was giving him energy. To help him recover from whatever happened. That was the Summer King’s blessing: the ability to give life, even to inanimate objects or nearly dead fey. Not actually dead, reanimation was beyond even the King’s abilities, but beside that, nearly anything was possible if Tony put his mind to it.

Steve let his head fall back to the ground and decided to talk to the ceiling instead, because he wasn’t sure who he should address at the moment. “Please don’t fight,” he sighed. “You need to work together here, not against each other.”

Bucky slowly pulled back his silver hand and sat back on his heels. His remaining hand’s fingers caressed circles on Steve’s chin.

Tony pushed a little harder on his chest. “You endangered Pepper by bringing him here.”

“If you think he’s that dangerous, he’s better here than anywhere else.” Fuck, that wasn’t where he wanted this conversation to go. He looked at Tony. “There is a conspiracy going on. I know, what’s new, there are always conspiracies. But they’ve never worked together in both Courts, and that could mean a difference. We need to work together too to be an equal match. And you’ve just experienced that Bucky is a powerful ally.” His head cleared up more and more with each second and his vision was almost back to normal by now.

Tony did a wonderful job; better than a healer, actually, which was a mystery to Steve but he wasn’t complaining.

“Not to complain, but someone should enlighten me too,” Sam said, though it sounded a bit like a whine. “I mean, I’m glad you’re back, Steve, but you know, I’ve been doing this Captain thing in your absence and I’m fairly positive I should know about a conspiracy.”

Steve sat up, and he was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t a pain to do so. His limbs were cooperative and his eyesight sharp and his head clear.

He wasn’t sure how long this blessed normalcy would last, but he supposed he ought to make the most of it. Bucky remained at his side, silver hand hovering over his arm, ready to catch him if necessary. Steve observed the place that was once a more or less homely prison. Now it was mostly just bare walls and burnmarks. The cell bars made out of living, growing branches were gone, broken down to dust, as well as every furniture item that had been inside. He even saw their  _ shadows _ , burned into the stone by magic for eternity to come.

He shuddered.

Beth laid fast asleep a few steps away from them. Steve stared at her. “What happened?”

Bucky, of course, understood the question. He pointed at himself.  _ “Me. Had to do it, she almost jumped between us to protect you, when everything started.” _

Steve let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.” He didn’t even care that in Fey Lands the mere words made him indebted to Bucky.

Meanwhile Tony briefly explained the situation to Sam, not going into details, but highlighting the most important aspects of their previous conversation. Including the part about Pepper. “Send at least three Guards to protect her at all times,” Tony ordered.

Steve perked up. “You think that’s necessary?” he asked, trying to be cautious and not outright point out that his King was acting hasty right now.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Tony said.

“If you order extra protection, your enemies will know that you’re aware of their machinations,” Steve warned. “You’ll lose the element of surprise.”

“I won’t endanger Pepper,” Tony repeated, too stubborn for his own good, and Steve repressed a sigh and refrained from pointing out that Pepper, with her superior fire powers and healing ability, was as close to indestructible as anyone could be.

Steve was willing to bet killing Pepper was in fact a harder task than going against Tony himself.

“Maybe if we move fast, we can get ahead of them and their plans before they even know they fell for it,” Steve suggested. He looked at Bucky. “They know we’re here, but they don’t know our intentions.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. He talked in Steve’s head, which was still a bit uncomfortable but manageable by now, and he signed the words as well for the two other fey.  _ “Based on the words I used, they rightly think we’ve fought. They might even think I’m dead.” _

“Which forces them to hurry up with their plans,” Steve followed the train of logic.

_ “And that leads to mistakes.”  _ Bucky sounded really smug about that.

“Either Bucky was right and it’s about the Queen of Air and Darkness, or Tony’s right and it’s about an assault against the Queen of Fire and Light, we know their plan. We know their goal. They don’t know ours.”

“Uh, because we don’t have one?” Sam interjected.

“We don’t even know who ‘ _ they’ are, _ ” Tony added grumpily. “And if we want to use the element of surprise, then we won’t have time to extract any more information from Snowflake’s head either.”

Steve nodded.

“So we force them to reveal themselves,” he stated, like it was obvious.

Tony eyed him somewhat suspiciously. “How, exactly?”

Steve looked at Bucky for confirmation, and he nodded his approval. He didn’t hide that he wasn’t exactly  _ happy _ about this idea – to put it mildly – but he agreed nonetheless.

“What if you showed off your newest prisoner, the banished Winter Soldier who was not only captured at Fae Lands, but captured during an attempt to reach the Summer Palace?” Steve felt his lips forming a smile slowly, a wild and predatory expression that he hadn’t made in a very long time. The game was on and he aimed to win. “That would force their next move pretty effectively. And you and Pepper would be both as protected as one can get in the heart of your Courts, surrounded by guards and allies.”

“Allies and traitors, if you're right about Summer's involvement in this,” Sam added, ever the worrywart.

Tony just shook his head. “You know what time is it here, right, Steve?” When he didn’t get an answer beside a questioning gaze, he continued, sighing. “It’s solstice today. In a few hours, Wanda Maximoff herself will arrive here.”

Bucky’s thoughts roared with chaos and anxiety, dread and joy flooding him in nearly equal measure, and Steve had to fight the spike of worry in his own guts. He locked eyes with Sam.

“Well, that sure as hell will blow up in our faces,” Sam agreed.

Tony considered everything for a minute. “Good,” he decided finally. “Sam, seat yourself. Let’s do it.”

Bucky looked from one to another as he picked up Steve’s excitement and determination through their connection, and frowned. That was probably the only reasonable reaction, really.

_ “You’re all crazy,” _ he summarized.

“Yep,” Steve agreed out loud. “And we crazies will unveil a conspiracy in about a day or so, so buckle up for fighting and politics, buddy.”

“Mother of All,” Sam groaned. “I had such a good, uncomplicated life before you came back, Cap.” 

Tony snored so loud Bucky jumped a little.


	12. There is a time to fight for what you want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes according to plan. And then it doesn't.

Their plan was easy and honestly not as brilliant as he'd tried to make it sound, but it was good enough, Steve thought.

It was good first because they had all agreed to it, and second because it meant they controlled the setting of the inevitable confrontation - which is as good as it gets when you're dealing with an international conspiracy.

Steve stepped up to the cart that Bucky was being transported in and checked the chains on him yet again. He’d put them on himself: that was Bucky’s condition for being restrained like this. The chains were pretty little things: the links no thicker than a finger, and lighter than they seemed, but they were reinforced with magic. They could hold even the most ferocious creatures, or so it was said. They were rarely used, so Steve had never witnessed that in action. The cuffs circled Bucky’s neck, upper arms, wrists and ankles, and they forced him into a kneeling position. His weapons – at least his sword – lay in front of him on the floor of the cart.

Bucky had placed it there himself.

Beth was the only one with them now, napping on the other side of the cart, not bothered by the emotional turmoil around her. Out of all the possibilities, she had chosen to be a fluffy, oversized Pomeranian right now. In any other circumstances, Steve would’ve found it hilarious.

_ “Relax, Steve,” _ Bucky conveyed when Steve’s hand closed around his ankle next to the cuff.  _ “It’s our best bet.” _

That was true but didn’t stop Steve from hating it. He hated the helplessness that was implied in Bucky’s posture,  hated that he couldn’t use his hands to sign if something went wrong, and probably hated most that Bucky was almost naked in plain view of everyone, and Steve wanted to keep that sight solely for himself.

He didn’t actually say any of that, but Bucky probably sensed it anyway, no matter that Steve tried to keep the connection as strictly verbal as possible.

_ “I’m glad for the chains,”  _ Bucky confessed in his head, looking straight ahead at the door.  _ “That means I can’t hurt anyone.” _

_ “You wouldn’t hurt anyone,” _ Steve answered on autopilot, and Bucky just shook his head a bit. They both knew what he meant – Bucky was still worried about the mindcontrol possibilities. Steve was mostly just outraged by them.

_ “I can’t shake off the feeling we’re right where our enemies want us,”  _ Bucky admitted,  _ “and it’s not a comfortable thought.” _

“It’s too late to back out,” Steve said, and stroked Bucky’s leg. It felt amazing under his fingers: the contrast of the hard muscles underneath and the soft, silky skin.  _ “We’ll handle it, however it turns out. We have the upper hand; don’t let your insecurities get the best of you.” _

Bucky finally looked at him, and Steve was enthralled by the picture he presented. The gold around his neck, the silver of his arm, the sight of Bucky’s face without anything to hide it; his slightly swollen lips (he kept biting them anxiously, a cute little quirk that Steve had just now discovered) and his cheeks tinted with faint pink blush; his eyes shining with unspoken emotions... Bucky bent forward as much as the chains would let him, and Steve’s hand slipped away from his ankle – no need for the mental connection when Bucky’s eyes conveyed his wish just as clearly.

Steve tiptoed and brushed his lips against Bucky’s, gently at first but turning hungry for it almost immediately. Steve reached out and cupped Bucky’s face with both hands and slipped his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, enjoying the cold Winter taste he loved so much – had loved since the first time he savored it – and Bucky kissed back almost desperately, the chains rattling as he struggled against them.

He wanted to do this forever and ever. Well, this, and maybe more, in the future, when Bucky was ready to offer it.

Steve pulled away first. “This is not a goodbye,” he promised firmly. “Let’s not act like it is.”

As if on cue, the door started opening and Steve stepped back immediately, drawing his sword. Beth scrambled to her feet, her fur and form shifting softly as she started to adapt for the new circumstances, but Steve didn’t dare to spare a glance at her to check what kind of dog she would be next. Bucky straightened up as much as he could, like he refused to show any sign of defeat even on his knees, which was probably the most  _ Bucky _ thing Steve could imagine. The carriage started to roll ahead slowly, and Steve lifted his sword up protectively as he fell in step next to Bucky.

The throne room was so brightly lit it blinded him for a moment. Half of the light came through the open roof, the sunrays’ yellows and oranges tinting the white walls as the evening started to settle, but the other half was the fairy lights the same color as Tony’s chestglow, bathing the room in light blue shades.

The room was full. All kind of fairyfolk had shown up to the ceremony, and they stood around in small groups, chatting and enjoying the drinks and snacks being offered by the ubiquitous serving goblins. But every murmur died when they laid eyes on the captured Winter Soldier, chained and on display exactly for this purpose.

No one dared to come close, and Steve sized up the place, the audience. His eyes skimmed over fey who were low ranked or not strong enough to pose any kind of threat, and lingered on the ones who could be dangerous, if they turned out to be traitors. He draw a map in his head, marking their locations in the room, color coding them by his personal opinion of likelihood of betrayal. The crowd turned into a mass of greys and greens and blues and reds, while he still also saw it as it was, a colorful crowd of curious courtmembers.

At the far end of the room on the throne itself, sat Tony, King of the Summer Court, with Pepper at his side. Both of them were surrounded by the usual flock of advisors, consultants, servants, and, of course, the entirety of the Royal Guard. That wasn’t strictly usual, but given that at Tony’s right was the platform for the Winter Court delegation, with the Queen of Air and Darkness Wanda Maximoff in the middle of it, it was quite understandable.

The carriage kept a steady pace as it climbed toward the throne, allowing everyone to stare at Bucky. Steve felt like his skin wanted to crawl off of him, but his face remained blank and his hand steady. It was just the usual jazz with Court politics. Bucky knew what he had signed up for with this plan and accepted it. And Steve himself hadn’t been the Captain for nothing: he was more than capable of handling a curious crowd.

And if the conspirators tried anything, he would be here to stop them. He was here to keep an eye on everything and to protect Bucky – they had decided this would  be his role after he had hesitated a bit and had blurted out he should be at Tony’s side.

Sam had made it clear that he would be having none of that.

“No offense, Steve, but I’ve been handling things just fine in your absence and I won’t hand back the shield just because you decided it’s time to show up again,” he had scowled. “And I’d be a really shitty Guard if I let you be the King’s personal protector while your loyalties are clearly not tied to him and him only anymore.” He had been glancing over Bucky when he had said that, and Bucky had withstood the gaze without flinching and even nodded along, like he understood the sentiment completely.

Steve had been forced to admit that Sam was right.

As much as he cared about Tony, as much as he was loyal to his one and only King and to his best friend, his heart pulled him to Bucky.

Even Steve himself wasn’t sure that, given the awful scenario where he’d need to decide, which would be stronger, his duty or his love. Steve prayed he’d never need to find out.

At the moment, nothing seemed out of order yet. Steve checked on Bucky, and Bucky stared right back at him, his eyes conveying conflicting emotions. He moved his head a little, a nod barely there, and with the gesture he pointed toward the podium where the Winter delegation sat.

Steve stretched his hand in front of Bucky, like he just wanted to pat Beth on her head, and while doing so his fingers brushed Bucky’s skin.  It was so annoying that they still needed to actually touch to be able to talk mentally – Steve didn’t mind in any other situation, but right now he wished they could communicate without any restrictions. But the momentary brush of fingers was enough, and Bucky's warning hammered inside Steve’s head instantly, showing one of the young uniformed fey who stood beside Maximoff.

_ “Don’t hurt him, he’s like me, not with them willingly! Keep an eye on Rumlow though, he’ll try something.” _

Steve didn’t follow Bucky’s gaze and didn’t show any sign of hearing the thought. He petted Beth (who softly whined and leaned her head into the touch), then retracted his hand and returned to his original stance just in time. There were horrified gasps all around, and the crowd of Summer Fey parted to give way to someone  from the Winter delegation – and Steve discovered with disgust that it was probably his least favorite person on all Lands. The Red Skull hadn’t gotten any prettier in Steve’s absence, and his grin was just as irritating and threatening as ever. All of Steve’s instincts snapped to attention; his hairs stood on edge and his hold tightened on his sword. Johann – who was basically Steve’s counterpart in Maximoff’s Court, being the main bodyguard for the Winter Queen – never meant well, in Steve’s probably-biased opinion.

But he had actual reasons to think so right now. Because, other than being the Leader of the Winter Guards? Red Skull was also the leader of the Wild Hunt.

The fact that Beth felt the urge to climb through under the carriage and plant herself next to Steve to growl threateningly at the fey wasn’t soothing either. If a Protector Hound smelled acute danger then danger was not just around the corner but right at their throat, at least figuratively.

Steve lifted his sword and pointed at Johann. “Stand down,” he ordered firmly. “You’re not allowed to come closer to our prisoner.”

“Your prisoner was once an honored member of our Court,” Skull rasped. He always sounded out of breath, though Steve knew that wasn't the case. Honestly, Steve wasn't sure he even needed to breathe at all. He was cunning and slippery as an eel – it wasn’t far-fetched to imagine that he’d fake that too to gain an advantage. “I have to verify his identity to the Queen.”

_ The _ Queen, not  _ my _ Queen. Steve gritted his teeth – on top of everything, Johann dared to openly insult the entire Summer Court.

Bucky’s chains rattled. Skull stepped closer, letting the point of Steve’s sword scratch the chestpiece of his armor, forcing Steve to keep at least part of his attention on the Winter Guard while he turned his head to see what was happening on Bucky’s other side. Beth disappeared from Steve’s side and scrambled back to the other side of the carrier, barking and growling and showing teeth.

He didn’t see any other Winter Fey, but he saw Bucky – he saw the muted scream on his face, the terror in his eyes, the tension in all his muscles.

Steve shoved Red Skull away and turned fully toward Bucky, opening his mouth to say something, to soothe him, to reassure him that they were safe and there were no monsters even while the monsters were surrounding them.

He followed Bucky’s gaze, and he looked just in time to see Beth leaping on Ezekiel Stane. But she wasn’t fast enough, and Stane caught Bucky’s gaze and got out a word, a word that Steve couldn’t fully understand but that made a shiver run through his spine nonetheless, because he  _ knew _ the taste and feeling of that word.

Steve was stunned for a very precious moment as his mind tried to process the information that Ezekiel Stane of all people would be a traitor. Steve had dismissed him at first as being  _ too _ obvious, but Beth being on top of him sinking her teeth into Stane Jr’s throat was good enough proof that  _ he was indeed a traitor. _

A traitor who did something, who said something that tasted like Bucky’s name had tasted, when Steve first spoke it: that chilly, ozone-like aftertaste, only in a bigger and more concentrated dose. Bucky stopped struggling even before Beth took care of Stane, and Steve turned to see  _ why _ , dreaded what would he find, but his ears picked up something else instead.

Behind him, Skull spoke. Steve couldn't understand what he said, either, but the tone was commanding enough to make his skin crawl. Especially when Bucky turned toward Johann and nodded, his face and eyes perfectly blank and calm. “Ya gotov otvechat,” Bucky said, or something like that – the exact words didn't matter, because Steve recognized a phrase of obedience, even in a foreign language..

***

Steve moved on instinct, and before he even realized what he was doing, he had grabbed Red Skull and pinned his sword to his throat. “Take it back. Now,” he ordered, in a harsh whisper.

The cold, empty, merciless weight in his stomach urged him to simply kill him, get over with it. It was tempting, but he had to stay alert: he wasn’t sure Johann wasn’t a crucial part of bringing Bucky back from that state, so he couldn’t give in to it.

For the first time he was grateful for the chains, because he didn’t have to worry about Bucky, at least. Forced into submission or not, given orders or not, Bucky was secured with bonds that didn’t allow him to act as their enemies wished to use him.

Beth was taking care of Stane, and Steve wasn’t sure anything would left of Ezekiel by the time got around to stopping  her.

But he needed at least one member of the conspiracy alive to confirm their guilt, to clear Bucky’s name of the charge of kinslaying, and of course – to prove they didn’t just lashed out on unsuspecting fey out of some fucking bad habit.

While Steve was busy mentally listing all the reasons why he should leave Red Skull alive, to restrain himself from simply slaying him, Johann had the opportunity to act. He opened his mouth, wide  _ wide  _ and wider, his face stretched uncomfortably; the illusion that gave him a relatively human appearance fell and all the red that gave his name showed; and he howled.

The sound was faintly familiar, highly disturbing and completely animalistic.

From the distance, bugle calls and thunder answered.

_ The motherfucker. _

“Guards! Guards!” Red Skull yelled afterwards, “Rogers released the Soldier!”

_ What?! _

Steve spun on his heels.

The howl had also covered the sound of Bucky breaking free of the chains, and he was leaping down, landing on his feet gracefully, his deadly enchanted sword in hand.

The supposedly unbreakable chains. So much for that. In the periphery of his senses, he heard the screams of the crowd and saw panicked fey scrambling to get away, but he couldn’t care less about them.

Steve jumped, but something collided with him mid-air, and teeth sank into the flesh of his side. Beth pinned him down, growling at him, and for once, she didn't look like any mortal dog breed. The colorful scales of her true form glistened like light reflecting off of water, or the iridescent surface of an oil slick, and her eyes glowed eerie blue.

_ The motherFUCKER! _

Steve didn’t have time to glance over to Stane, who had somehow turned Steve’s own Protector Hound against him in a mere minute, too busy keeping Beth’s fangs away from tearing into him again. He didn’t want to do this, not now and not ever, but Bucky was in danger and he also meant danger to others and Steve knew Bucky would never forgive himself if he killed someone again under traitorous orders.

Bucky was Steve’s responsibility now.

He kicked Beth hard enough that she flew in the air, and looked away, heart aching for her, even while knowing she would land safely. Beth could take care of herself.

Then Steve was on his feet and sprinting after Bucky. He was faster. That had to count something. He had to catch up.

There were a few fallen fey in his way, but even without checking closely he could tell they were simply unconscious, not dead. That was good, that maybe meant Bucky was still inside his head to some extent, maybe he could... what? Steve wasn't sure. He couldn't think clearly. A heavy fog of dread clouded his mind, even as determination and instinct drove him to action. They tried to prevent this. He didn’t want to do this. Why had he been too weak to stop this?

Bucky didn’t run. He was simply walking toward his target, with a foreign, predatory sway of his hips. And yet he moved impossibly fast, almost blurring at the edges. He didn’t even lift his sword and when a fey approached him: he simply swatted the bold challenger away like an annoying fly. His gaze was firmly set on the podium where Tony and Pepper stood, unmoving statues in the chaos, taking everything in but not intervening yet. The Royal Guard stepped forward to protect them, all of them moving in unison like they were one single being. The same thing happened over in the Winter delegation.

Steve took this all in with one simple glance.

“Stop there, Winter Soldier,” Tony ordered. Bucky didn’t listen.

“Son,” Maximoff called, and that made Bucky stagger a bit, but not enough to stop or slow him down. For a moment, Steve felt like a cold breeze tried to cut through the fog in his mind, not strong enough to lift it but enough to swirl it and shapes and forms that loomed through the mist before it closed up again.

Still the determination remained.

“You heard that,” Obadiah Stane, Tony’s first and foremost advisor spoke up. “The Winter Queen called the assassin her son! The Winter Court attacked us!”

The room roared, just like the blood in Steve’s ears as his heart pounded hard in his chest.

“Obie, no--!” Tony tried, but the remaining words were lost to Steve. He knew he needed to keep all his focus on Bucky; knew he didn't have time right now to be speculating about loyalties, but he couldn't stop himself from wondering if Stane really believed what he said or if he was a traitor too.

Just because his son was, Steve shouldn’t draw conclusions, but Obadiah was a skilled tactician and a real puppetmaster in court politics, and this outburst wasn’t exactly his style. And the chaos that had erupted as a result played right into the hands of the conspirators.

For a few blessed moments, Steve was grateful for the size of the throne room, and the fact that they had to cover so much ground to get to the Royals. Steve caught up with Bucky a good twenty yards away from the podiums and reached out to grab him. Bucky somehow sensed it, and also somewhat recognized him – as a threat greater than the unlucky common fey who had tried to stop him so far.

Bucky spun on his heels and greeted Steve with sword, and Steve had to snap up his own blade to avoid getting hit right in the face.

Steve sidestepped, twisting away from the slash and then again when Bucky struck again, fast as a snake, right at the place where Steve had planned to set his foot. Fuck, Bucky was  _ fast _ , Steve was reminded once again. 

There was something different about this fight, though. Bucky was just as suicidally determined as ever – maybe even more so, if that was possible. But some of his usual grace was missing. His movements felt… heavier, somehow. Not slower, not by a beat, but he was less creative, more mechanical. He stuck to routines, didn’t turn them around to get the upper hand. He used force instead of cunning.

That might have given Steve an edge, but Steve's own movements lacked some of their usual grace. There was still a mist around the edges of his thoughts, dulling his reactions. They were evenly matched.

“Bucky, please,” he tried from time to time, desperately. He even tried to use Bucky’s full name, with no result – he didn’t know Bucky’s True Name, after all. “You know me. I know you. You don’t want to do this,” he pleaded, but Bucky didn’t answer. He couldn’t, anyway, not with the mask on: the mask that also blocked Steve’s attempts to connect with Bucky mentally.

A battle raged on around them. Steve felt it, sometimes even saw it out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t dare to actually look. He couldn’t risk it while Bucky was wielding a blade that could kill him in an instant. People didn’t come close to them, not as long as they could help it, but from time to time it happened. Slash, dodge, roll away – Steve almost collided with someone and had to jump left to avoid Bucky’s next attack. He recognized the boy, Scott, in his Guard uniform, who was… keeping a dog away from them?

Steve didn’t have time to think about that. He had his own opponent.

_ Slash, dodge. Evade, strike. Jump, thrust. _ The rhythm was familiar, almost comfortable. He could predict Bucky’s moves. He could do this all day. He was building up a strategy, slowly but steadily, to disarm and capture Bucky without actually hurting him.

That was when Bucky decided this duel was taking too long. In one blink the mask was on his face, and in the next it wasn’t, and he opened his mouth while he pointed at Steve with his free hand.

Steve had no idea what kind of incantation to prepare for, what kind of magic to expect. He had only experienced Bucky’s magical powers once, and that was enough to realize he was fucking doomed if he let Bucky say even one word.

Steve leaped forward, ducking under Bucky’s blade and slamming himself into Bucky’s chest, slamming his hands to the sides of Bucky’s face, and made one last, desperate attempt to will their telepathic connection to life.

In a heartbeat it had sucked Steve in like a giant whirlpool, and the chaos around them disappeared completely. Steve felt nothing but mist, fog and confusion for a moment. No matter if he opened his eyes or closed them, everything was grey, grey and even more grey.

Steve dug deeper, tearing the fog away like cotton candy, trying to sink his metaphorical fingers into familiar soil.  _ “BUCKY!”  _ he roared, compressing all his mental volume into one call, this one terrible, needy, desperate cry for help. Steve couldn’t fight this mist alone: he would be lost in it as well, without guidance. The fog whispered into his head too, repeating the traitorous order, swaying his thoughts away from his own agenda. But he was a stubborn bastard, always too stubborn for his own good. No, he wasn’t here to kill a queen, he wasn’t here to obey, to serve. He had nothing to do with Hydra and he sure as hell knew submitting to them didn't mean anything good.

He focused on his own goal instead. He was here for Bucky, only for Bucky, and he had no business with anything else.

_ “BUCKY BARNES, answer me RIGHT NOW or so help me…!” _ A shape emerged from the shadows, stumbling forward, and Steve reached out, pressed his flesh hands tighter to Bucky’s face while he reached with his mind, grabbing and holding and pulling the familiar figure closer, through the mist that clung to him, tried to hold him back. Steve was having none of that. He growled at the mist, ready to fight it if necessary, and pulled even harder.

_ “Fuck off,”  _ Steve hissed at the fog.  _ “Bucky is mine; you can’t take him away from me!” _ Stane could go fuck himself. He could twist things as much as he wished, but this was truth, one Steve felt in his bones and in his soul, one that had already ingrained itself to his very being. It wasn’t an accident that he and Bucky had formed a permanent bond, and it wasn’t a mistake either. It was what they were meant to do. It was who they were, compatible on every level, so different yet so similar where it counted.

Something cracked, something spun, something opened, something closed.

Steve wasn’t even sure what happened, but a thought formed in his head, a series of vowels and syllables, something he wasn’t sure he never heard before but didn’t recognize either, but it felt right. He cradled them closer, not inspecting but nursing them, formed them with his mind, whispered them with care.

And Bucky came The mist couldn’t cling to him anymore; the fog couldn’t hold him back when these sounds called him, these sounds that tasted like ozone after a lightning strike and the chilly morning air below freezing temperatures and the ice covering the surface of a river and Bucky, Bucky, all of Bucky himself.

_ “Steve _ ,” Bucky gasped, reaching for him across the mental landscape and holding onto him with both arms, sobbing in relief as he was finally able to tear himself out of the all-consuming grey fog.

Steve embraced him, knowing full well that in reality they were still motionless and vulnerable, but still needing a moment to compose himself here, to comfort both of them with this mental, emotional hug.  _ “Hush, hush,” _ he said.  _ “I’ve got you, Bucky. I’ve got you.” _ For a few blessed seconds, Steve was all around Bucky, and Bucky was all around Steve, and the mental connection felt like home, felt like they could crawl into it and disappear from the material world, to have their peace in here forever.  _ “It’s over,” _ Steve said, and ran a hand through Bucky’s hair, both mentally and physically.

The latter seemed to sober Bucky up a bit. He pulled away slightly, just so they could look into each other’s eyes.

_ “No, it’s not, _ ” he corrected softly and almost apologetically.  _ “We’re far from done. We have our duties.” _

Steve sighed.  _ “I know.” _

Bucky smiled at him, soft at one moment and all hungry, predatory the next. Both were him. Both suited him equally well.

Bucky leaned forward and brushed his lips against Steve’s.  _ “After this is done, I won’t leave you.” _

Steve nodded.  _ “Promise.” _

Steve took a deep breath as he opened his eyes, not quite ready, but determined to face what was coming. He had something to look forward to, and he wasn’t going to miss it.


	13. Meet me on the battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything falls into place.

Steve came to his senses violently and became battle-ready instantly. Which was a bloody lucky coincidence, because the battle was very much going on already.

Bucky looked at Steve with open wonder in his eyes, and a wide, beautiful smile on his face, but he sobered up quickly too.

Two Guards were flashing around them, their speed dizzying as they blocked any attack directed at them. Beth fell on the ground growling and got back on her feet immediately - apparently unharmed. Steve identified one of the guards as the kid from the prison, Scott, and the other as Janet.

He had no reason not to trust them, apparently they kept them alive while they were out of - or more like in - their minds, and anyway: Janet was also one of the most gifted combatants Steve had ever had the pleasure to train.

He used the opportunity the protection gave him to look around, and tried his best not to be horrified. The throne room looked like it had been torn to pieces, frozen, burnt, and then exploded for good measure.

Most of the civilians were being led out currently on the far end, which indicated him and Bucky didn’t miss more than a minute of the events. Strange, considering how  _ long _ the time felt in the mindcontrol-mist, but also not strange at all in the light of how much a mental landscape worked differently than reality.

He looked for Tony, but he couldn’t see him properly: the amplified glow of his bitterblue magic almost blinded Steve, and he could only imagine how strongly every other fey felt the King’s presence in the room. Pepper was shining too, though she did so because literal fire licked her figure. She picked flames from it with bare hands, aiming them with deadly precision and so calmly it made Steve shiver a bit.

A couple dozen feet away Wanda Maximoff showed why she had earned the name Queen of Air and Darkness. Steve couldn’t perceive her exact shape, because the shadow around her blocked the sight, and the darkness swirled like a hurricane, and multiple arms reached out of it at any given minute to snap bones like firewood.

Every Soldier and all the Guards were engaging some form of fight with each other. Hank disarmed someone Steve recognized as Rumlow but was tackled to the ground by another fey - was that the kid Bucky wanted to spare earlier? - before he could finish it. Sam was flying above Tony with the shield of the Captain, ready to intercede at any minute and occasionally hurling himself in front of malevolent spells and blocking them, but even he stayed out of the King’s immediate power sphere. 

The Winter delegation was outmatched by far, but lightning brought Huntsmembers to the field to even it out bit by bit. Steve saw Red Skull not far away, tearing a soldier’s jugular out with his bare hands.

“Janet!” Steve had to shout because otherwise his voice would’ve been lost in the maddening noise of colliding magics and weapons. “Why aren’t you with Tony?!”

“Ask him!” Janet grunted while she shrunk  to the size of a pixie and tasered a fey - Steve had no idea if he was Summer or Winter - unconscious. “Orders are orders!”

So either Sam but most likely Tony ordered two of his personal protectors to guard his expelled ex-Captain and a likely assassin while Steve was busy breaking Bucky’s brainwashing.

He’d have to thank him later. 

But first he’d have to repay the favor to the best of his abilities. Which, honestly, came in handy because he didn’t want anything more than to make the people accountable for Bucky’s suffering and all this chaos  _ pay for it. _

He lifted his sword and stepped forward, but Bucky’s hand stopped him short. Bucky watched the swirling darkness that was supposed to be Wanda Maximoff with burning eyes. He didn’t have his mask on. “Stand down,” Bucky said softly to Steve. “Stay behind me.”

Steve wanted to ask, wanted to know what was happening, but Bucky didn’t give him a chance as he stepped forward and Steve reached after him and Bucky opened his mouth while Steve grabbed him and…

Bucky screamed. It was only one word, but Steve felt it like nothing before: it tore up his mind and resonated in his bones and seemed to fold space around him like it was nothing. The word was raw power itself, enough to cut though the chaos around them and counter the other powers in the field. The roar bounced back from the walls, echoed in each mind; it soared through defenses and slipped behind mental blocks. 

The magic that had been so closely guarded all through the years Bucky had spent in exile was finally released – Bucky let go all of it, almost uncontrolled, and all that strength exploded.

**“MOTHER!”**

Bucky wasn’t the most potent person in the room, nor the most important by rank. But he was, undoubtedly, the loudest.

While others’ magic buzzed in the air mostly silently, Bucky’s sole aim was to grab everyone’s attention, and he definitely was powerful enough to achieve that.

As the echoes died, everything became blessedly quiet and motionless, everyone too taken aback to actually react. Steve supposed the conspirators were too shocked that Bucky was acting on his own free will when by all means he should be delivering a killing order right now.

Steve’s limbs trembled and he blinked owlishly as he tried to recover. He wasn’t used to sense magic as intensively as Bucky did, and he couldn’t let go of Bucky’s arm, feeling that spot of connection was all that was keeping him upright while he recovered his bearings.

The whirlwind of darkness stilled at Bucky’s address, and Wanda Maximoff emerged from the middle of it, floating a good six feet above everyone, red tendrils of magic swirling around her, her eyes glowing.

Tony shot up in the air immediately, the eerie shine of his chest embracing him in soft blue light, facing the other Royal at the same level. Even if he didn’t want to fight her, he couldn’t let her have the symbolic and literal high ground, especially not in Tony’s own Court.

It felt like everyone held their collective breaths, waiting for their signal to break all hell loose again. Bucky spoke up before they could do anything, though, and his voice filled the enormous space of the throne room.

“The Summer Court is not your enemy, mother!”

It didn’t matter. As the moment of surprise passed, a good portion of those present turned back to their enemies and continued fighting. Steve tried to keep track of who were the ones to do so first, because he supposed they were the most likely to be the brainwashed victims acting against their better judgement. He noticed one of the Royal Guards, a woman named Jessica who was only a candidate when he left the Court, fighting against her own partner and his heart sank. Steve’s heartbreak was mirrored by Bucky when he spotted a few of his fellow Soldiers clashing against each other as well.

The brief pause wasn’t enough to overcome the utter chaos this battle was, when friends turned to foes and the real tricksters might remain unscratched while their victims shed their blood for an unholy cause they didn’t even believe in.

Steve usually kept his anger in check, he usually was able to keep a tight lid on it when the situation called for it, but this here pushed him to the edge.

They didn’t even know  _ who _ to fight, while everything was this messed up.

He growled and leapt in the air. He caught Beth mid-air, grabbing her throat with one hand and pushing her head down with another. “Elisabeth,  _ ENOUGH!” _ he snarled, twisting his hold, and it resulted in a painful and repressed howl. “Snap out of it.  _ I’m your pack, _ and  _ I’m your leader _ , stop it!”

Ezekiel had spent a mere minute or so with Beth, while Steve was the one who had hand-fed her in the first month of her life, he was the one who had trained her to be the hound she was now, he was the second-in-command when Peggy was with them. He might not have any magic to counter the mindfuckery Stane put Beth through, but his rage almost felt physical now, crawling under his skin and twisting his guts and making him feel ferocious and wild. He wasn’t magical, but he was powerful in other ways, and fey hounds had always been trained to be obedient.

Beth recognized strength and she quailed.

Her form started shifting, fur growing out in rapidly changing colors, form oscillating between Beth’s preferred types, like she was unable to decide and settle on one, but the unnerving blue glow was gone from her eyes at least.

Steve dropped her, the anger still raging in him, looking for its next target, and he struggled to keep it in check. “Stay down,” he ordered, and Beth did as told, laying down on her stomach immediately. Steve forced himself to think. He didn’t need Beth around him right now, not when he was this furious, and more importantly he didn’t want her anywhere near Ezekiel again.

He pointed to Scott, who was fighting near them. “Protect him.”

Beth lunged to obey.

Steve turned at looked at Bucky, and was taken aback by the fact he was already halfway through the room on his way to Maximoff. Steve rushed after him, not engaging in duels, but interfering in others fights at every opportunity he encountered. He kicked legs out from under fey, he slashed and stabbed whenever he could say who was the enemy and who wasn’t.

Bucky scattered ice around himself.

Even without magical senses, Steve could almost see the power clouding Bucky, and whenever someone tried to get close, Bucky said something in his incomprehensible Winter language and the power lashed out, showering the plucky bastard in ice shards sharp enough to cut through skin. Bucky barely  _ had  _ to use his sword and knife as he passed through the battlefield. It didn’t stop him though either when he encountered someone he considered as a willing and voluntary enemy, but that was rare.

Steve dodged a slash by sliding under it on his knees, slicing the ligaments on the attacker’s knees as he went by, and jumped to his feet again, closing in on Bucky yet again.

Bucky was finally near enough to the podiums, and he shouted again.

“My Queen, if you want to fight so desperately, I’ll show your real target!” He didn’t take his eyes off of Maximoff who was busy staring down Tony, their powers stretching against each other but not exploding into a full fight yet, and Steve leaped forward just in time to catch a Hunthound from jumping on Bucky.

They fell on the ground, the hound whimpering as Steve’s sword found its way to the dog’s heart and it crumbled into dust and ashes.

Something wailed above them, and the sound of giant wings accompanied the horrifying scream.

“I can second that, Your Majesty,” Natasha said as basically everyone, Steve included, looked up. “I have proof.” She…

She sat on a wyvern.

_ A fucking wyvern. _

Steve wanted to laugh hysterically at the realization that Natasha was publicly riding Clint in his lizard form and no one was the wiser.

The battle didn’t stop like it did when Bucky interrupted, but Natasha didn’t care, and why would she? Pepper joined her in the air, and the Summer Queen’s wings made of flames radiated heat on everyone below.

Pepper and Natasha kissed each other’s cheeks like they were meeting for a friendly chat in a café, not flying above a battlefield and in mortal danger. Steve was pretty sure they even exchanged some polite words about something, though he wasn’t sure – he had to duel off some Huntsmembers first, plus he finally spotted Ezekiel Stane and Red Skull together a good thirty feet away. He very much intended to put a blade through the traitorous scums’ hearts as soon as possible.

He was, however, distracted when flames erupted on the ceiling, running in every direction, lighting up the whole room for a second and Natasha’s voice echoed in his head – and, by the look of it, everyone else’s head – the next moment.

Pepper and Natasha sat comfortably on the back of the wyvern, pressed together and projecting Nat’s calm, collected thoughts to everyone.

_ “Ladies and Gentlemen and In-between, let me interrupt for a minute,” _ Natasha said.  _ “Please stop fighting if you can, or keep going if you can’t, whatever. Allow me to name the ones responsible for the latter.” _

Steve dodged an attack and dashed closer to Bucky. Janet drifted next to him and they fought side by side yet again. Steve flashed a smile at her, and she cheered back at him from above a knocked out fey. They kept listening though, even while dueling.

The words were accompanied by pictures and scenes – memories of other fey, cut out and projected, underlining every word.

_ “Alexander Pierce, advisor of Queen Maximoff, I accuse you of High Treason and being the head of a conspiracy called Hydra. Obadiah Stane, advisor of King Anthony, I accuse you of High Treason and being second in command of the same conspiracy.” _

There were spells and projectiles aimed at the women in the air, but the wyvern hit the arrows away without any difficulty and Pepper’s magic burned the hostile spells midair.

_ “Ezekiel Stane and Justin Hammer, nobles of the Summer Court, I accuse you both of High Treason and the mindrape of numerous faithful courtmembers, including Winter Soldiers and Royal Guards. Ivan Vanko, noble of the Winter Court, I accuse you of High Treason by serving Hydra and killing your own kin, including Winter Soldiers, without having permission to do so.” _

Hammer? Steve tried to look around and spotted someone running. Much to his satisfaction the fugitive was stopped shortly.

All of the accusations were accompanied by images, memories of the addressed fey committing the crimes they had been accused of. Steve would die to know how Natasha had been able to collect all of them. Some memories were blurred at the edges, some dulled by time, colored in sepia. Some images weren’t even foreign memories: there were letters, for example. Steve would’ve gone out on a limb that Natasha had the originals while she showed the images to everyone and handed copies of them to Pepper: reports of the Winter Soldier training, of a candidate’s death that was presumed unavoidable after continuous fail in brainwashing, coded messages in mixed Summer and Winter letters.

Natasha even had blood samples, for trackers to investigate them further.

Steve was, while busy avoiding a spiky tail and cutting off an arm, genuinely impressed.

_ “And last, but not least:  Johann Schmidt, Leader of the Wild Hunt, I accuse you of High Treason and the killing of Prince Frost, Pietro Maximoff.” _

Natasha couldn’t continue. The moment the fall of the deceased Prince Frost flashed in front of the audience’s eyes, red energy exploded in the room. The Prince Frost’s death was quite a controversial topic among feyfolk: some were still sure it was Summer machinations, some thought the Queen killed her own brother, some insisted it must’ve been unintentional despite all evidence against these rumors.

Whatever it was, Steve had never had any doubt that the Queen was genuinely mourning her brother. He remembered that time when he had to seriously worry about Maximoff going to war against them out of grief, based on nothing more than rumors. Missing the Prince was probably among the many reasons she had started collecting her Winter Soldiers, a tad better but still not exactly healthy coping mechanism on her part.

And here it was, witnessed and projected out so everyone could see, the murder itself, committed by someone the Queen probably trusted as much as a Royal can trust anyone.

Saying that Wanda Maximoff was enraged was the understatement of the century.

Winter Fey rarely lost their grip on their emotions but when they did, they were  _ absolutely terrifying. _

Tony and Sam touched down on the ground in unison. Clint started to shift back into fey form, while Pepper grabbed Natasha to put her down into safety. All the while the Winter Queen’s form blasted into black void and red shine, the shockwave of the burst spreading through the whole room.

Steve almost felt pity for Johann. Almost.

He felt a little sorry that he couldn’t end Skull’s life himself, but whatever: he would settle for having the pleasure of watching the Winter Queen tearing him into microscopic pieces.

Maximoff’s energy knocked most fey off of their feet, only the most powerful ones (and, ridiculously, Steve himself who was barely affected) stayed standing after it. That made spotting Ezekiel Stane so much easier.

Which actually made Steve wonder a bit as he jumped through fallen fey and sprinted toward the traitor, because he never considered Stane as  _ strong _ , especially not in the magical sense. He supposed Ezekiel hide a lot of his powers in the court, because he  _ had  _ to be powerful to perform the brainwashing like he did on Beth.

The other one surprisingly standing was Justin Hammer, but Steve saw Pepper calmly approaching him, so he wasn’t worried about him at all. A quick glance told him that Tony was dealing with Obadiah Stane, and Sam was there too.

All things considered, Steve was absolutely free to tackle Ezekiel, which was great news. He flew headfirst into the younger Stane, doing with sheer physicality what magic failed to achieve and knocking him off of his feet. Much to his satisfaction, Stane screamed as he fell, and Steve was already above him, raising his sword and aiming for the heart.

“How did you do it?” Steve demanded. “How did you turned them out of themselves so thoroughly?”

He knew it was a mistake the moment he asked, he didn’t even need to see Stane’s expression turn from fearful to calculating. “You’re worried about the lingering effects, aren’t you?” he asked back, and even laughed. “Well, I can show you.”

Their eyes met, and Steve felt the ground being swept out from under his feet as he started to freefall in his mind, but before he could thoroughly panic about it, something collided in him. The freefall turned into flight, and though the landing wasn’t pleasant, at least it happened. Bucky grunted above him.

“Fuck, Steve, don’t be an idiot.”

Steve was never so grateful for being scolded, especially not when he looked up at Bucky and not only felt but saw the worry in his eyes. Even in the middle of the battle, knocked out flat on his ass he had the urge to reach up and kiss him.

Before he could make an even bigger idiot of himself by doing exactly that, the screams started. They both whipped their head that way, forgetting about the closeness.

Maximoff was still busy dealing with Schmidt, even the sounds muffled as the dark fumes and red energy beams covering a good twenty feet radius of the space, and occasionally tiny pieces of the former Red Skull were flying out of it. That was… mildly disturbing, but not the cause of distress.

Steve hadn’t forgotten about him, but in the heat of the battle he kind of got distracted from keeping an eye on Alexander Pierce, who Natasha claimed to be the leader of this whole mad conspiracy. It was the time to deeply regret that negligence.

Pierce was busy finishing his transformation, and Steve’s mind halted as he tried to process the sight in front of him. Before this moment, Steve had never really paid attention to Pierce’s looks: his face slipped out of the mind like an unimportant detail. Now, however. Now it was hard to miss him. Instead of a humanoid fey, instead of the kind-of-middle-aged, ever-so-forgettable figure, there stood an enormous beast. Its heads – seven of them at the moment – grazed the ceiling.

The Hydra knocked out a wall with the swing of its tail.

Bucky blinked. Steve swallowed.

“Well, it’s big,” he risked the obvious observation, and Bucky’s laugh was somewhat strangled.

They barely reached the  _ knees _ of the creature.

“Fuck,” Bucky summarized.

Steve stood up and pulled Bucky with him.

Janet materialized next to them, seemingly out of nowhere, though she probably had just shrunk up until this point, and she whistled approvingly. “Now that’s what I call size,” she grinned.

The creature spotted them. It took a deep breath, threatening glow forming under its chest scales, and it opened three of its mouths.

Steve, Bucky and Janet scrambled in three different directions.

The Hydra vomited acid on the spot where they have been a moment ago, and the glowing purple slime slowly melted the stone that was the floor.

“What the hell,” Steve muttered as he rolled to his feet and started to sprint toward the others. “What the fucking everloving hell.” Steve was kind of stupid and kind of bold, but even he wasn’t idiot enough to think he’d stand a chance alone against a monster like this. He had better plans than to die a hero’s death.

Sam apparently was on the same page. “Guards! Into formation!”

Whoever remained standing gathered and obeyed, forming a hard-hitting unit within mere seconds, positioning themselves between the Hydra and the King. Steve only spotted Scott among them because Beth still remained close to him, according the command Steve gave earlier.

Pierce roared, the voice tearing eardrums and shaking the ground beneath.

The Queen of Air and Darkness emerged from the mist of her powers again, and she didn’t seem much calmer than before she started to consume Schmidt. She almost seemed affronted by being disturbed in her business. Her flat and unimpressed voice, however, didn’t show any emotional turmoil when she spoke.

“Advisor Pierce, Hydra, you’re dismissed from Our service and hereby banished from all and every Land We rule for lying to us. We also sentence you to death, for treason against the Crown, against Our court and against Our children, effective immediately.”

“Verdict seconded,” Tony joined in, less ceremoniously but just as firmly.

Pepper stood up too. “I allow anyone currently present to put our judgment into effect, and give our Royal Blessing to each and anyone executing the verdict.”

Steve’s lips curled into a wild smile. He loved blanket permissions like this. He almost felt the nervous excitement vibrating from the Guards. No one joined an elite force like the Guards without being a complete nut of an adrenaline junkie first.

The creature miscalculated: it tried to get rid of the minor threat first, as it struck down on the Guards with one of its heads, but the joined force of their magic stopped the attack before it could reach the formation. Two of the Guards separated from the group, flashed into the air and chopped at the neck from two sides, cutting through flesh and bone and making the wounds bigger with magic.

One head fell to the ground.

Two grew back in its place, slightly smaller but just as dangerous ones.

“Myth confirmed,” Steve muttered as his eyes already scanned the scene to look for Bucky.

He was distracted, however, by three very angry royals first.

Tony, Pepper and Wanda lifted into the air, all of them embraced by their magics.

“Get out of the way,” Tony ordered quietly, his voice strangled by withheld power lurking close to the surface.

The creature tipped three of its heads back and laughed with a hair-raising, booming sound while the remaining heads watched its enemies.

The Guards obeyed – they didn’t have much other choice, really, but Steve hadn’t officially been taken back into service yet so he remained in his spot on the sideline, ready to move at any second. He didn’t startle when Bucky joined him, brushing their shoulders together.

What happened next was probably equal parts the most beautiful and most horrifying sight Steve had ever witnessed.

Maximoff’s wine-red darkness, Pepper’s orange-fire and Tony’s breathtaking-blue powers, probably for the first time ever, worked together in perfect union. It felt like watching a dance that lacked a perfect choreography but the amazing talent of the dancers made up for it; and the magical powers surely beat any special effects humans could come up with.

The Royals were terrifying and glorious, but the beast they were against was also magnificent in its horrendousness. Stikes and slashes were fast and brutal, strengthened by powers. Maximoff choked and beat the Hydra to no avail with smoke-like incantations, her voice deep like an ocean. Tony looped bright spells around the necks to paralyze it. Pepper contained the creature with fire, because it seemingly was only afraid of that.

Slowly but steadily they forced the Hydra back more and more.

Then Maximoff and Tony exchanged a look, came to an agreement, and replayed the move the Guards had tried before, slicing at one of the necks from two sides, watering the ground with the blood of the monster only for a brief moment.

Pepper was there almost immediately, throwing herself forward and cauterizing the wound.

No head grew back.

After that, victory was only a matter of time.

Steve didn’t relax until the Hydra’s last head was cut off, and the remaining body was falling over, crumpled in on itself. Three different magic tore into the flesh, digging for the heart mercilessly.

With a short command Bucky rose into the air and Steve let him, watching his lover flying for the first time, driven by grim determination.

Maximoff tore the heart out of the Hydra.

Bucky slipped through them, sword in hand, and drove his blade through the heart.

Tony nodded his approval and Pepper started to burn the body.

Steve greeted Bucky on the ground with open arms and open mind and open heart.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later.

“DAAAD!” Kobik wailed. “Dad, Chicken Steve pecked me!”

Bucky sighed and put down the basket to have his hands free for the incoming little girl. Kobik jumped with the utmost trust she’d be caught, and Bucky – or, for the matter, Steve – never disappointed her. He petted her hair while she slushed snot on his jacket.

“Well, that’s still better than Goat Steve biting,” he said.

“I still can’t believe you named half of the animals after me,” Steve stepped out of the barn, grumbling for show. It made Kobik giggle gleefully, the more or less faked scare already forgotten. Steve made a face. “We still need the eggs to bake the cake, honey. Or do you want Uncle Tony to not have anything sweet to eat? We don’t want him to taste us instead, right?”

He stepped closer and pressed a light kiss on Bucky’s lips. No matter how chaste the gesture was, it still made their little girl giggle again in between them.

Bucky put her down. “Go and collect those eggs, minion.”

As soon as she ran into the barn, Steve slipped closer to give Bucky a proper kiss. Almost two years together and he still never got bored of it: the chilly-and-spicy Winter taste on his tongue, and Bucky’s gentle yet firm reciprocation.

Steve once asked Bucky and he said Steve still tasted like Summer, if a bit dulled on the edges, and Steve didn’t ask again.

Two years since the fall of Hydra. They had spent the entirety of it in the farm, not going anywhere. They didn’t need to: Fey had came to them.

After the fight, they had both separately been offered their positions back in their respective Courts. They had both been aware what would that mean: pledging their allegiance to their King and Queens, giving their life to the service of the throne and of the fey, and not being together ever again.

Steve had refused the offer, comfortable in his knowledge that he had become just as important to Bucky as Bucky had become to him. Bucky appeared not so long after, quiet and withdrawn, and he seemed taken aback by the fact that Steve was there waiting for him, and from that moment Steve had been spending his time trying to banish the possibility that Bucky would ever doubt Steve’s loyalty to him again.

They had chosen each other, and Steve never regretted that choice.

Natasha came visiting first, a mere week after the incident. Tony had shown up almost a month later. Wanda two days after that. The visits had turned into a more or less regular schedule and it didn’t take long until the Royals started to run into each other accidentally.

That’s how Steve and Bucky’s house had become an unofficial Royal Meeting Place. In two years their dinner table seen more peace negotiations and trade deals than a council room did in a century.

Steve used the opportunity to bargain a bunch of fey, Summer and Winter mixed, being ordered to restore his precious garden to its former glory and more. It took months but they succeeded eventually, and the garden became suitable for all kind of Fey afterwards, not only Summerfolk.

Steve and Bucky celebrated by opening a few bottles of fiery Summer Wine and getting as drunk as they could. (In Steve’s case: very very much drunk.) They were awakened by Natasha the next (or the day after?) morning who basically handed them Kobik. “She’s an orphan and needs a place to live,” she said as an explanation. “Has amazing powers, so I can’t give her simply to anyone. And you owe me. Both of you. Several times.”

Even if Steve had wanted to oppose, which he didn’t want to by the way, that would have shut him up. Anyway, Bucky was already cooing to the little girl by that time, so it also would’ve been absolutely pointless.

So they completely accidentally got a little mismatched family. A little girl they loved and adored (and tried to contain her powers during her easy scares), Royal Aunts and an Uncle and a Grandma, accompanied by their Guards and Soldiers.

They got back the animals Steve had released when the Hunt attacked them and got new ones as well, including a whole kennel of fey hounds under the watchful eyes of Beth and Marge.

Bucky got a chef degree, grumbling all the way through it, but insisting on having to learn it properly to feed the army of fey loitering around constantly.

Steve picked up his freelancer artist career where he left it.

When they needed adrenaline, feeling bored by the lack of action of their lifestyle, Kobik immediately took care of adventures. If she somehow didn’t sense it in time, there was a good chance of Sam or Coulson showing up to provide.

Their life was good.

When Kobik returned to the kitchen with Bucky by her side, Steve picked her up and bopped her nose. “Hey, princessa, I have a very important question for you.”

Kobik’s eyes lit up with sapphire light. “I can get my own ducks? Pleeease, daddy, I’ll take care of them well, I promise!”

Bucky couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and Steve pouted. “Well, not exactly,” he said, ignoring Bucky’s signing in the background. Even though he was completely free to talk now, no one tracking or following them, they often still fell into the habit of signing or communicating mentally. It was what they were used to, after all. “What do you think about a little brother, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear God. Folks.  
> This had been a wild ride.  
> If you enjoyed something in this story, please consider leaving a comment! I sacrificed my sanity to bring this fic to you on time :) Also my tumblr is always open to any visitors, drop by for Marvel content or messaging me! :)


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